Lord of the Coffee Java of the Ainur
by Lothithil
Summary: A Parody of Professor T's magnificent books, written by someone who drinks entirely too much coffee. No potty humour or smut, just lots of cream and sugar and not a little amount of silliness.
1. Chapter 1 By Way of an Introduction

**The Lord of the Coffee **

_A work of infinite impudence and improbable respect_

A Tale of **Coffee** and a Tale of **Heroism  
**Being the Record of **Events  
**Of the **Third Age of Coffee of Middle-girth  
**And the **Beginning**  
Of the **Fourth Age of Tea-Time  
**With **buttered scones**

This **Author** humbly acknowledges that  
She received all of her **inspiration** for this **corruption** of her favourite book  
From the **Intelligent** and **Wonderfully Insane  
Fan Club Members  
**Of the **Middle Earth Message Boards**

You guys **Rule!  
**

**Theme Song for Lord of the Coffee**

Farewells we make,  
A Quest we take,  
For Cappuccino and  
Fresh cake

From Rivendell Perk  
To Godivriel's Place  
At every stop  
We'll stuff our face!

If we run short  
Of coffee ground  
We'll drink Black Tea  
'Til we get wound!

And from our cups  
Of DragonRoast  
We'll deeply drink  
And share a toast!


	2. Chapter 2 Concerning Halfcaffs

**Lord of the Coffee, An Introduction To A Prelude **

_with all respect to Prof T... well, at least a LOT of respect, and a little ornery humour..._

**Concerning Half-caffs **

This book is largely concerned with coffee, in all its varieties and forms, but also to be found here is some information about Half-caffs, and from these pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history. Further information will also be found in the selection from the Red Book of Recipes that has already been published, under the title of The Hobbean. That story was derived from the earlier chapters of the Red Book, composed by Bilbean TeaBaggins himself, the first Half-caff to become famous in the world at large--and to all accounts, he is **still **at large; 'ME's Most Wanted' posters are still seen in post offices all over Erebor and Eriador. There is a reward offered.

Many readers, however, may wish to know more about this remarkable people from the outset, while some may not possess the earlier book. For such readers a few notes on the more important points are here collected from Half-caff-lore.

Half-caffs are an unobtrusive but very gregarious people, more numerous around a nice uncomercialized café than to be found at a Starbucks. They love peace and quiet and well ground coffee; a well-decorated and well-furnished bagatelle is their favourite haunt... but rarely, a well. They do not and did not understand or like machines more complicated than a coffee grinder, an espresso-press, or a bread-machine, though they were skillful with beans of all roasts. Even in ancient days they were, as a rule, shy of 'the Big Folk', as they call us, and now they avoid us with dismay and are becoming hard to beat to the fresh donuts.

They are quick of hearing and sharp-eyed, and though they are inclined to be fat and do not hurry unnecessarily, they nonetheless get the drop on us clumsy, log-footed Java-hounds. They possessed from the first the art of making danish disappear swiftly and silently, when large folk they do not wish to share with come blundering by, begging to borrow a cup of sugar or milk; and this art they have developed until to Men it may seem magical. But Half-caffs have never, in fact, studied magic of any kind, and their talent for making breads, candies, fruit-turnovers, and cakes, not to mention coffee and tea beverages disappear in a twinkling is due solely to a professional skill that heredity and practice-- and a close friendship with the chef-- have rendered inimitable by bigger and hungrier races.

For they are a little people, smaller than Dwarves-- less stout and stocky, that is, even if they are not actually much shorter--and their passion for coffee is often blamed for this reduced height, as well as their habit of smoking pipeweed. This is oft discussed as well for being the reason that they grow upon their feet a thick swath of curly, almost woolly, hair and those feet are generally large and well-groomed, however they may be portrayed upon the silver screen.

They dress in bright colours, being notably fond of yellow and green, and generally weave cloth that is easy to launder and remove coffee-stains. They wear no shoes, of course, having thick leathery soles on their feet, and their faces are good-natured and friendly, and generally smeared with jam. Their mouths are apt to laughter, and to eating and drinking. And laugh they do, and eat and drink, often and heartily, being fond of simple jests at all times, and of six meals a day (when they could get them); breakfast, second breakfast, brunch, third breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, twosies, teatime, snacktime, half-time, dinner, after-dinner, supper, aperitif, coup d' grais, and midnight morsel; which is of course more than six and you see how delighted half-caffs are with the joy of drinking coffee; (if you don't ever sleep, that is eight more hours you can be eating!).

It is plain that in spite of later estrangement Half-caffs are relatives of ours: far nearer to us than Elves, or even than Dwarves. Of old they spoke the languages of Men, after their own fashion, and liked and disliked much of the same things that men did; coffee with cream, carry-out food, and microwave ovens. But what exactly our relationship is can no longer be discovered. The beginning of Half-caffs lies far back in the Elder Days that are now lost and forgotten. Only the Elves still preserve any records of that vanished time, and their silence has long been bought with Half-caff blackmail payments, dutifully delivered every third Starday in a plain paper bag with a fresh batch of Toll House Cookies.

Yet it is clear that Half-caffs had, in fact, lived long and quietly in a world full of strange creatures beyond count, so that these little people seemed of very little importance. But by the days of Bilbean, and of NescaFrodo his heir, they suddenly became, by no wish of their own, both important and renowned, and troubled the digestion of the counsels of the Wise and the Great.

It is widely believed that the use of pipeweed among the Big Folk is actually to relieve the heartburn caused by worrying about these adorable little people. Wizards have been known to burst into spontaneous fits of pipe-smoking just on the mention of Half-caffs.

_Try it with your Istari friends!_ wink!


	3. Chapter 3 The Long Expected TeaParty

**The Long Expected Tea Party**

_My Dear Freeloading Relations and Gluttonous Guests,_ began Bilbean TeaBaggins, at the celebration dinner of his Birthday Party. He rose in his place to deliver his Speech, taking a place standing on a barrel under the vast Party Tree that sprawled in the air over the pavilion. The crowd of half-caffs, virtually every one in the entire Shire and quite a few from out of it, began to cheer maniacally. The coffee had been flowing tonight!

_My dear TeaBagginses and Toffins,_ he began again, _and my dear Cooks and StarBrandybucks, and Muggs and Chuggs, and Teatotalers, and Folgers, Girthhurdlers, Goodfellas, Crockhouses, Madhatters, Whiterabbits, and Doormice._

"DoorMOUSES!" shouted the Doormouse from the back of the pavilion. He had his small pink feet up on the table, and his long hairless tail was dipped in the jam jar.

_Whatever,_ said Bilbean goodnaturedly. _Also my good Snackville-TeaBagginses that I welcome grudgingly back to TeaBag End; Lobrielia, please note that all the silver teaspoons have been welded to the tabletop._

Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday! I am eleventy- one today! There came a great chorus of "Hurray! Happy Birthday! Where's the cake?" and other such greeting as half-caffs are wont to display on such occasions.

_I hope you are all drinking as much coffee as I am!_ Deafening cheers. Whipped cream and champagne-creamer were sprayed and tossed about. Cries of Yes (and No) were heard.

Bilbean raised a hand for silence, but they ignored him, being hit hard by their caffeine rushes. The half-caff grabbed a party horn and blew three piercing notes for attention. The noise subsided.

_I shall not keep you long,_ More cheers. _I have called you all together for a Purpose._

_Indeed, for Three Purposes! First of all, to tell you that I am immensely fond of you all, and that this is a really good excuse to drink a lot of coffee and stay up all night watching Gandgulp's magnificent Fireworks!_ Much cheering, and the Grey Wizard stood up and bowed happily. He sat down again and resumed blowing bubbles out of his pipe. He would get even with those two rascals, MochaMerry and Drippin, for putting soap in his pipeweed pouch.

_I don't drink half as much coffee as half of you do, and I pay twice as much for latté as I should, when I go to Starbucks!_ Huge roar of agreement and some muttering.

_Secondly, we are here to celebrate my Birthday, or rather OUR Birthday, as this is also the birthday of my nephew and heir, NescaFrodo."  
_  
NescaFrodo stood up to take a bow, after disengaging himself from a clinging blonde girl in a blue dress with a white pinafore who had appeared out of nowhere and attached herself to him like a leech, staring at him with big, star-struck eyes. Sanka quickly organized NescaFrodo's cousins MochaMerry and Drippin as crowd-control. The girl was discreetly bagged and removed from the party.

Bilbean continued his speech, _NescaFrodo turns of age and comes into his inheritance today._ At this, the Snackville-TeaBagginses scowled and wondered what he had meant by this mysterious statement. (Clearly, they were not the crispiest animal crackers in the box!)

_And thirdly and finally,_ he said, _I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT!_ Bilbean declared in his 'outside-outside voice'. He patted his pocket absently, the gold chain clipped to his silk waistcoat glittering in the lights under the vast sprawling tree above them, _Even though eleventy-one years is far too short a time to live among such creamy and delicious half-caffs as yourselves, I regret to announce that this is the END. I am going. I am leaving NOW! Adieu, bye-bye, cheerio, ciao, eighty-eights, farewell, Godspeed, so long, swan song, toodle-oo. GOODBYE!_ He stepped down and vanished.

Bilbean had not truly vanished, however, but had merely appeared to do so. He had been fiddling with a ring of coffee that he had in his pocket, a souvenir from his old Adventure Days, and as he had finished his speech, he had slipped it onto his finger. When he wore the Coffee Ring, he was so invigorated that he could move faster than the eye could see. He raced out of the pavilion and was never see by any half-caff in the Shire again.

Everyone at the party fell silent. The half-caffs stared around, wondering where Bilbean had gone, and if he expected him to clean the place up. The Mad Hatter chuckled and nibbled on his coffee cup. The White Rabbit was pawning his gold watch off to a Dwarf as trade for a sharp axe. (The next time that blonde lunatic Alice followed him down a hole, he was going to make sure it was her last!)


	4. Chapter 4 Shadows of the Perk

**The Shadows of the Perk**  
_Beware! Just... beware!_

**Getting The Beans Rolling  
**  
There were rumours of strange things brewing in the world Outside; and as Gandgulp had not as that time appeared or sent any messages for several years, NescaFrodo gathered all the news he could. Elves, who seldom lingered in Shire coffeehouses, could now be seen hanging about, leaning on the jukeboxes and singing mournfully along to Simon and Garfunkle tunes. There were Dwarves in unusual numbers on the roads, wearing kilts and making their ways to the mines of the Bleucheese Mountains. They all spoke in whispers of the Enemy of Good Coffee and the Land of Mordonut.

That name the half-caffs only knew in legends of the dark past, like the stain of old grounds in the coffee filter of their memories; but it was ominous and disquieting. It seemed that the evil franchise of Mediocre Coffee had been driven out of Perkwood by the White Council only to reappear in greater concentration in the old strongholds of Mordonut. The Dark Café had been rebuilt, it was said. Horcs were multiplying again in the mountains, and even the sheep were afraid. Trolairs were being sold, and they were no longer sweet and creamy, but tough and stale and far too overpriced. And there were murmured hints of creatures and pastries more terrible than all these, but they had no brandnames.

Little of this, of course, reached the ears of ordinary half-caffs. But even the deafest and most stay-at-home began to hear tales; and those whose business took them to the borders saw strange things. The conversation in The Green Tureen at Bywater, one evening in the spring of NescaFrodo's fiftieth year, showed that even in the comfortable heart of the Shire rumours had been heard, though most half-caffs still laughed at them.

Sanka Gamgeek was sitting in one corner near the fire, and opposite him was Bred Candyman, the miller's son; and there were various other rustic half-caffs listening to their talk.

"Quirky things you do hear these days, to be sure," said Sanka.

"Ah," said Bred, "you do, if you listen. But I can hear tales around the watercooler at work, if I want to listen to rumours."

"No doubt you can," retorted Sanka, "and I daresay there's more truth in some of them than you reckon. Who invented the stories anyway? Take Oléophants now."

"No thank 'ee," said Bred, "I won't. I heard tell of them when I was a youngster. They also told me that drinking coffee would stunt my growth and cause me to grow hair on my chest," he said, getting a general laugh.

Sanka laughed with the rest, "Well, you do look rather like a Chernobyl Chia-pet, Bred, if you don't mind my saying so!" This earned another laugh, though Bred did not join in.

"Well, you look like a weebol with a toupee on its toes, Gamgeek!" and he stormed out of the café amid the jeers of the other half-caffs. Sanka took his bows and accepted the "Annoy The Miller" award for the ten thousand thirteenth time running. There was much rejoicing and the coffee flowed...

Meanwhile, up the Hill in TeaBagEnd, an old man in grey was tapping on the study window.

NescaFrodo welcomed his old friend Gandgulp with surprise and great delight. It had been many years since the half-caff had seen the old wizard, since his Uncle Bilbean's going-away party. NescaFrodo and Gandgulp looked hard at one another.

"Ah well eh?" said the Wizard. "You look the same as ever, NescaFrodo, except for that Coffee Ring you are wearing on a chain under your clothes."

"This old thing?" NescaFrodo placed a hand over the thing, feeling it warm and comforting under his jacket. "That's just something my uncle left for me. He couldn't seem to get rid of it, until he left that day that he left the Shire, so long ago. Now it is mine."

"No, it isn't. NescaFrodo, what did your uncle tell you about that Coffee Ring?"

"He said never to wear it in public when I am naked and to use a coaster to prevent it from staining the furniture. Why do you ask?"

"Because that Coffee Ring is dangerous, NescaFrodo. In ancient cafés long ago the Elven-wise drank strong coffee with a bad element named Sour'on, and they sat around philosophizing and expounding many themes of caffeinated wisdom. The very stains of the coffee that they drank were so powerful that they could overcome mortal men who dared to sample the spills.

"A mortal, NescaFrodo, who possesses a Coffee Ring, does not die, nor does he grow more wakeful or alert; that is but an illusion. If he uses the Coffee Ring to innervate himself, he fidgets; he becomes in the end permanently jittery, and walks in the twilight under the eye of the dark coffee that rules the Rings."

"How terrifying!" said NescaFrodo. "How long have you known about this?"

"Known?" said Gandgulp. "I have known much that only the Wiseacres know, NescaFrodo. But if you mean 'known about this ring', well, I still do not _know_, one might say. There is a last test to make. But I no longer doubt my guess."

"What test is this you speak of?" asked NescaFrodo, clutching the Coffee Ring unconsciously. "I haven't studied for any tests! Is it multiple choice?"

"Sure. What happens when you put on the Coffee Ring? Do you:

a. Grow larger or smaller.

b. Use the Force

c. Move so fast that you seem invisible to everyone around you.

d. Lay golden eggs.

"Take your time and answer carefully." The Wizard consulted his wrist sundial, giving the half-caff an extra few moments because of some cloud-cover.

"Um," said NescaFrodo nervously. He hated tests. "Um... 'C'."

"Well, that's good enough for me. You are in deep trouble, NescaFrodo. The rightful owner of this Coffee Ring has heard that it is here, and he is sending some nasty pieces of work called _Nútralites_ to come and fetch it for him. You don't want to meet these guys, I guarantee it."

"How did he find out it was here?" NescaFrodo said, beginning to feel the paranoia hit him. "Are we on Candid Camera?"

"No, NescaFrodo. He heard the news from the former owner of the Coffee Ring, the one who had it before your uncle. Gulp'um left his dark lair and tried to find the Ring, but Sour'on caught him first. He told the dark chief where the Ring was and who had it."

"This is terrible!" cried NescaFrodo, feeling panic starting to set in. Gandgulp handed him a paperbag to breathe into as he began to hyperventilate. "What can we do? Can we destroy it?"

"There is nothing in the Shire that can harm that Coffee Ring. We must go to the Wiseacres and ask them for help. To Rivendell Perk it must be taken, and I should seek the council of Sacchrineman, the head of my Order.

"But what am I to do? I am not built for Quests or Adventures. Oh, Gandgulp, will you not take the Coffee?" and the half-caff held out the Ring to the Wizard.

"NO! Do not tempt me! I shall wish to use it to make good coffee and it cannot be used so! Wishing to be kind, I would become as nasty as the dark lord himself... do not tempt me! I shall have need of caffeine, so soon." Gandgulp backed away and held a chair between the half-caff and himself.

NescaFrodo sighed and replaced the Ring inside his shirt. "I guess then that I must take the Coffee Ring to Rivendell Perk myself, and guard it, whatever it may do to me. Is there any chance, Gandgulp, that I might find Bilbean in Rivendell Perk?"

"I do not know, NescaFrodo. Why do you ask?"

"'Cause I got a bone to pick with him. This bloody thing should have had a warning label!"


	5. Chapter 5 Java of the Ainur: Genesis

_Here is a parody of the first chapter of the Silmarillion, the Valaquenya.  
__Don't say I didn't warn you!_

**Lord of the Coffee: Java of the Ainur**  
**The Valacoffee, Genesis of the Brew, part one**

There was _Brú_, the One, who in Arda is called Brewlúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Hungry Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made. And he spoke to them, propounding to them themes of Coffee; and they grinded those beans before him, and he was glad. But for a long while they grinded each alone, or but few together, while the rest observed; for each comprehended only that part of the beans of Brewlúvatar from which he came, and in the understanding of their brethren they grew but slowly. Yet ever as they handled the coffee they came to deeper understanding, and increased in jitteryness and began to lose sleep.

And it came to pass that Brewlúvatar called together all the Ainur and provided them with a mighty bag of beans, brewing for them coffee greater and more wonderful than he had yet revealed; and the glory of the first sip and the splendour of the last drop amazed the Ainur, so that they bowed before Brewlúvatar and begged for a re-fill.

Then Brewlúvatar said to them: 'Of the beans that I have provided to you, I will now that ye make in harmony together a Great Café. And since I have kindled you with the Flame Imperishable, ye shall show forth your powers in decorating of this café, each with his own thoughts and devices, if he will. But I will sit and hearken and drink coffee, and be glad that through you great beauty has been wakened into drink.'

Then the brewing of the Ainur, like unto cocoa and creme, and cappuccinos and bréves, and mochas and lattés, and like unto countless coffees separated with words, began to fashion the beans of Brewlúvatar to a great parlour; and a smell arose of endless interchanging beverages woven in harmony that passed beyond the tasting into the depths and into the heights, and the places of the dwelling of Brewlúvatar were filled to over flowing, and the coffee and the stains of the coffee went out into the Void, and it was not void. Never since have the Ainur made any coffee like to this coffee, though it has been said that a greater still shall be brewed before Brewlúvatar by the waitstaff of the Ainur and the Children of Brewlúvatar after the End of Days. Then the themes of Brewlúvatar shall be brewed aright, and take Being in the moment of their percolation, for all shall be then understanding fully his intent in their part, and each shall know the comprehension of each and Brewlúvatar shall warm their brew with the secret fire, being well pleased, and by then, rather thirsty.

But now Brewlúvatar sat and sipped the brew, and for a great while the coffee tasted good to him, for in it there were no flaws. But as the brewing progressed, it came into the heart of Maxwellcôr to introduce condiments of his own imagining that were not in the spice-cupboard of Brewlúvatar; for he sought therein to increase the power and strength of the coffee assigned to himself. To Maxwellcôr among the Ainur had been given the greatest gifts of power and knowledge, and he had a share in all the beans of his brethren. He had gone often alone into the void places seeking the Imperishable Flame, for desire grew hot within him to bring into Being beans of his own, and it seemed to him that Brewlúvatar took no thought for the Void, and he was impatient of its emptiness. Yet he found not the Fire, for it is with Brewlúvatar. But being alone he had begun to introduce beans of his own unlike that of his brethren.

Some of these beans he now ground into his coffee, and straightway discord arose about him, and many that sipped his coffee nigh him grew despondent, and their thought was disturbed by the bitterness of the black brew; but some began to attune their coffee to his rather than to the thought which they had at first. Then the discord of Maxwellcôr spread ever wider, and the coffees which had been before foundered in a sea of turbulent brewing.

Brewlúvatar sat and sampled the coffee until it seemed that within his cup there was a raging storm, as of dark brewing that made war upon one another in an endless wrath that would not be assuaged, and it gave him heartburn.

**The Genesis of the Brew, part two**

Then Brewlúvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that he smiled, and he raised his left hand to Maxwellcôr and made a gesture, so that all the Ainur giggled and Maxwellcôr was abashed and annoyed; and amid the confusion and discord there arose two separate strains of coffee, one sweet and creamy, brewed and blended with from an immeasurably delicious bean, from which its flavour chiefly came. The other was bitter and vain, and without savour; the instant coffee-mix of common beans, unregal and unsatisfying. It merely essayed to dilute the other coffee by the quantity and inexpensiveness of its mix, but it seemed that its most triumphant flavours were but echoes taken from the other and stirred into its own unoriginal recipe.

In the midst of this brew-off, whereat the halls of Brewlúvatar shook and a tremor ran out into the silences yet unmoved, Brewlúvatar arose again and he made a face terrible to behold. Then he raised up both his hands and in one chord deeper than the Columbia River, higher than the Mountain Grown Folgers, piercing as the light of the eye of Brewlúvatar, the Coffee ceased to flow.

Then Brewlúvatar spoke, and he said, "Mighty are the Ainur, and mightiest among them is Maxwellcôr, and I am getting mighty tired of restarting this Theme, so everybody _listen_ this time, and stop coming in early!

"All these beans you have brought forth in idea, I will show them forth, that ye may see what ye have done. And thou Maxwellcôr, shall see that no bean may be brewed that has not its uttermost source in me, nor can the any alter the recipe in my despite. For he that attempteth this shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined nor seen in any Sharper Image catalog."

Then the Ainur were afraid, and they did not yet comprehend the words that were said to them; and Maxwellcôr was filled with shame, of which came secret anger. But Brewlúvatar arose in splendour, and he went forth into the Void, and the Ainur followed him.

But when they were all come, Brewlúvatar said, "Behold your Coffee!" And he gave them a taste, where before there was only sight and smell; and they knew a new Café was made before them, a world of Coffee and of Tea, wherein many fine things both sweet and bitter might be constructed, and he gave them a key to the kitchen door.

Brewlúvatar said again: "Behold your Coffee! This is your franchise; and each of you shall find contained herein, amid the design that I set before you, all those things which it may seem that he himself devised or added. And thou, Maxwellcôr, wilt discover all the secret thoughts of thy mind, and wilt perceive that they are but a part of the whole and tributary to its glory. That will teach you to leave your diary where **_I_** can find it!"

So the Ainur went forth into the Café, and they brought forth many fine things, preparing for the arrival of the First Customers, the Elves, whom Brewlúvatar had promised would come. Also he promised to bring forth the Second Customers, Men, at an undisclosed time and predetermined date, but by the way that he said it, the Ainur were pretty sure he didn't know, either. And so they brewed and they baked, and of all the cooks in the kitchen Maxwellcôr was chief, and he turned the ovens on too high and burned things, and the freezer chilled things to immobile chunks of ice. So the other Ainur voted him "Supervisor" and made him an office so he would stay out of their way while they were cooking.

This pleased Maxwellcôr little, for he wished to have his fingers in everyone's recipes. Still he thirsted for the Fire Imperishable, by which he thought that he could bring about coffee of his own, but he could not now leave the Café, for Brewlúvatar had barred the door behind him. So he set about undoing the works of the other Ainur, and writing up endless memos which he insisted that everyone read.

And Brewlúvatar spoke to Ulmocha, the Ainur who was master of milk, and said: "Seest thou not how here in this little café in the Deeps of Time Maxwellcôr hath made war upon thy province? He hath bethought him of bitter cold immoderate, and yet hath not destroyed the beauty of thy soda-fountain, nor of thy creamy pools. Behold the ice cream, and the cunning work of gelato! Maxwellcôr hath devised heats and fire without restraint, and hath not dried up thy desire nor utterly curdled thy cream. Behold rather this new thing: steamed milk, melting in everchanging clouds upon the surface of thy coffee, and listen to the stuttering hiss of the cappuccino machine, mixing beverages to delight and invigorate! Does this not bring you closer to thy brother Manwëhous, who's realm of aromatic beans might now mingle more happily with thy creamy produce?"

The Ulmocha answered, "Truly, milk is become now fairer than my heart imagined, neither had my secret thought conceived sherbet, nor in all my musing was contained the whipping of cream. I will seek Manwëhous, that he and I may make cappuccinos for ever to thy delight!" And Manwëhous and Ulmocha have from the beginning been allied, and likeasmost the biggest brown-nosers of all the Ainur, serving most faithfully the coffee to Brewlúvatar.


	6. Chapter 6 The Spilling of the Beans

**The Spilling of the Beans**

Gandgulp looked at NescaFrodo closely, saying, "Ever since Bilbean left I have been deeply concerned about you, and about all these charming, laconic, absurdly creamy half-caffs. It would be a grievous blow to the world, if the Dark Coffee overcame the Shire; if all your kind, jolly, stupid Bulgers, Cornpoppers, Muffins, Bustgirdles, and the rest, not to mention the ridiculous TeaBagginses, became franchised."

NescaFrodo shuddered. "But why should we be?" he asked. "And why should he want such customers?"

"To tell you the truth," replied Gandgulp, "I believe that hitherto-- _hitherto_, mark you-- "

"Yes, hitherto; I heard you the first time," NescaFrodo said testily.

Gandgulp tweaked his ear-tip. "Don't interrupt! As I was saying... hitherto, he had entirely overlooked the existence of half-caffs. You should be thankful. But your safety had passed. He does not need you-- he has many more wealthy patrons-- but he won't forget you again. And half-caffs as miserable slaves to bad coffee would please him far more than half-caffs happy and free. There is such a thing as cornering the market."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with Bilbean and myself, and our Ring."

"It has everything to do with it. Haven't you been listening?" Gandgulp rapped gently with his knuckles on NescaFrodo's hard little head. "You do not yet know the real peril yet; but you shall. Give me the Coffee Ring for a moment."

NescaFrodo took it from out of his collar where it hung against his breast on a chain. He unfastened it and handed it slowly to the wizard. It felt suddenly sticky, as if either it or NescaFrodo himself had been eating jam tarts and forgotten to wash his hands. "Sorry," said NescaFrodo, licking his fingers, and he handed it to Gandgulp.

The wizard held it up. It looked to be made of pure concentrated coffee, brown like rich ground-roast that had neither cream nor spice to sweeten it. "Can you see any markings on it?"

"No," said NescaFrodo, "There are none. It is quite plain and it never seems to get watered down or cold."

"Well then, look!" To NescaFrodo's intense astonishment and distress the wizard threw it suddenly into a cup of hot boiling water. The water instantly became brown and fragrant, a heavenly aroma rising with the steam. NescaFrodo groped for the teaspoon; but Gandgulp held him back.

"Wait!" he said in a commanding voice, giving NescaFrodo a quick look from under his bristling brows. "Do you jones for it so much already?"

"No," answered NescaFrodo petulantly, "but why dissolve it?"

"Because it is all together evil and addictive. It will enslave the one who uses it, until he can drink no other beverage and find satisfaction. He will require more and more quantities of coffee to satisfy his craving, and he will get the jitters so badly that he will be unable to lift a cup to his lips. He will not sleep nor eat, not allow anyone to wash his coffeecup because it has been 'broken-in'; but he will consume the coffee constantly until he disappears in a cloud of steam and chicory, becoming a coffeewraith under the power of Sour'on, the Dark Chef of Mordonut!" Gandgulp took the teaspoon and fished the ring out of the scalding water and picked it up instantly. NescaFrodo gasped.

"It is not too warm. Take it!" NescaFrodo received the thing on his shrinking palm: it seemed to have become stickier and heavier than ever.

"Hold it up, and look closely. What do you see?"

As NescaFrodo did so, he now saw fine lines running along the ring, outside and inside: lines of fire that seemed to form letters of a flowing script:

_"Three Beans for the Elf Kings eating cream pies  
Seven for the Dwarf Lords with their buttered scones  
Nine for Mortal Men, bagatelle and rye  
One for the Dark Lord who is but skin and bones _

In the Land of Mordonut where the kettle sighs  
One Bean to Brew them all, One Bean to grind them,  
One Bean to wake them all, and in the Café find them.  
In the Land of Mordonut where the kettle sighs."

"Darn it, Gandgulp," complained NescaFrodo, clutching his rumbling tummy, "all this talk of food and coffee is making me hungry!" and the half-caff eyed the cup of One Coffee sitting nearby, smelling delicious.

Gandgulp took it and poured it out the window. There was a muffled yelp that the wizard seemed not to hear. "Never mind that! Don't you get it? This is the One Coffee Ring to brew them all! This is the Ring that Sour'on left, enriched and concentrated with his evil prattle, and which he lost long ago, to the great weakening of his power. He wants it back, and he knows where it is!"

"How does he know?" asked NescaFrodo.

"Gulp'um left his underground coffee lake and Sour'on caught him searching for the Coffee Ring near Mordonut. The Dark One no doubt tortured him with stale danish and instant coffee; that is an old device of naughty persons. Gulp'um, or Sméagolatté as he was once called, then squealed, blabbed, talked, sang, serenaded, and in a word, spilled the beans."

NescaFrodo sat silent and motionless. Fear seemed to stretch out a vast hand, like a dark cloud of steam rising into his face and flattening his perm. "O, Gandgulp, what am I to do? What a pity that Bilbean did not kill that slimy mudhen when he had the chance!"

"Pity? It was pity that stayed his hand, NescaFrodo. Pity and Mercy, and good common sense, since he managed to follow the wretch out of the maze and escape. You should not be too swift to deal out death in judgment. You cannot unspill a cup of coffee, nor undrink a bitter draught."

"What? Could you say that again in _my_ language?" said NescaFrodo.

The wizard sighed. "Just listen to me: Don't kill people. It is a Not-Nice Thing to do. You're one of the good guys; remember that!"

Now it was NescaFrodo's turn to sigh; he knew that the wizard was correct. "Okay, Gandgulp, but if you don't mind my saying so, this really stinks. Are you sure we can't just bury it in the back yard or mail it to the IRS or something?"

"That would be like laying it in the Dark One's hand! We cannot risk it. We must take it to a place where Sour'on can never find it. We must take it to Rivendell Perk. There we shall ask the Wiseacres what to do with it."

NescaFrodo looked up hopefully at Gandgulp. "We...?"

"Well, I, ah..." Gandgulp hem-hawed, "That is to say... I must go to Isencoaster and speak to Sacchrinman the White."

"So when you say 'we', you actually mean 'me'... by myself," NescaFrodo sighed again.

"Well... take Sanka along with you!" The wizard reached through the window and plucked the little waiter from his hiding place where he had been watching and listening to every word, a SpyGuy journal and secret decoder ring and invisible ink and quill set falling from his surprised fingers. "He is trustworthy and loyal, and he would never, never tell a soul anything he just heard. Right, Sanka?"

The brown-skinned half-caff took one look at his master and the towering grey wizard, the soggy Coffee Ring and the map showing the way to Rivendell Perk, and his honest brown eyes rolled up in his head and he fainted dead away.

"What a pity," said Gandgulp as they bundled the semi-conscious servant onto the back of a pony, "I was looking forward to threatening him with the 'unnatural change' thingy," Gandgulp pouted good-naturedly. "It is the 'little things' like that which make life worth living!"


	7. Chapter 7 Four's Company

**Three's Company, Four's A Sit-Com!**

"Don't be a fool, NescaFrodo," said Gandgulp, as he watched the half-caff stuffing things into his backpack. "I said you should go soon, not instantly. And I don't think you'll be needing all that equipment."

NescaFrodo reluctantly puts the scuba-suit and harpoon he had intended to take along back inside the wardrobe cupboard. "Okay, Gandgulp... but if I get attacked by a massive subterranean aquatic monstrosity, it is on _your_ head!"

NescaFrodo looks into his pack, musing, "I probably won't need these, either." He removes the wooden crosses, stakes, holy water, silver bullets, tazer-gun, Rambo-style knife, pepper-spray, and his churchkey bottle opener. As he sets each item aside, Sanka promptly takes them up and stuffs them into his own backpack.

"That leaves room for more coffeebeans!" NescaFrodo announced with real cheer. "Sanka, where do I keep them?"

"'s already packed, Mr. NescaFrodo! Here, you can carry the grinder... it's not heavy." He hands his master a small device made of shiny metal, with a well-worn wooden handle. "I've already packed the sugar bowl and the biscuit tin, but cream is going to be the tricky part, sir. It won't keep long in our backpacks!"

NescaFrodo sighed. "I know, Sanka. We're going to have to take some _koffemayte_ with us, it seems. Thank goodness that it is so abundant, here in the Shire!"

Gandgulp sat watching them with amusement. "Well, if you're determined to set out at once, so be it! I shall away to Isencoaster and speak with Sacchrineman the White about what would be the best thing to do with the... 'you-know-what'..." Gandgulp glanced at Sanka, tapped the side of his long nose with his finger and winked at NescaFrodo.

Sanka rolled his eyes. "Mr. Gandgulp, sir, I know about the Coffee Ring. Who do you think has been doing Mr. NescaFrodo's laundry for the past 17 years? He never remembers to take it out of his pocket, and I can't tell you the number of times I have had to scrub coffee-stains out of the entire wash! Why do you think all his clothes are brown?"

NescaFrodo offers his friend a blushing smile, "What would I do without you, Sanka?" Sam turns pink and ducks his head, speechless. "We do need to hurry, don't you see, Gandgulp. If word gets out that I am leaving the Shire, certain persons may hear of it and want to..."

"Come along! Why, we thought you'd never ask! Of course we'd love to come along on your Adventure!" MochaMerry and Drippin pop out of the wardrobe, where they had been hiding. They are already packed and dressed for the road.

"Where are we going?" pipes up Drippin, opening NescaFrodo's backpack and nibbling on his trail-mix.

NescaFrodo gave Gandgulp a rolling eye and said, " You couldn't, perhaps, turn _them_ into spotted toads, could you?"


	8. Chapter 8 Battle of Feleground

**The Battle of Finrod Feleground and Sour'on  
**  
_The Battle of the Brew_

He brewed as cup of chicory,  
Of bitterness, forgery, treachery,  
Copying, unflavourful, betraying.  
Then sudden Feleground there swaying  
Brewed in answer a cup of staying,  
Eye-opening, battling against drowse,  
Of flavour kept, of milk from cows,  
And beans well-roasted, fresh spring water;  
Of changing filters and boiling hotter,  
Of stains eluded, unbroken cups,  
The café opening; coffee that wakes you up.

Backwards and forwards they wrestled over the beans.

Reeling and foundering, spilling coffee on their jeans  
The brewing perked, Feleground fought,  
And all the magic and beans he brought  
Of Elvenesse into his brew.  
Sweetly in the cup he threw  
Sugar spun by Vardacafé Herself  
And silky cream from the cooling shelf,  
Using the very best name-brand,  
Of spices from the Elvenland.

Then the gloom gathered; a darkness growing  
In Valinor, the cocoa flowing  
Beside the Sea, where the Noldor brew'd  
Their cup of doom, with the Bagateleri feud  
They stole in their recipes, and left no tips  
In the lamplit cafés. The filter rips.  
The cup shatters. The mocha leaks.  
The manager mutters against those 'Noldo geeks!'  
The customers in the café screamed  
Prices increased, milk and tempers steamed--

And Feleground was in the riot creamed.

_Loth runs for her life from the angry mobs_


	9. Chapter 9 The Scary Old BlackForest

**The Scary Old BlackForest **

And so NescaFrodo, our unwitting and unwanting hero, marched forth with his trusty and loyal server Sanka at his side and followed close behind by his adventure-and-good-sense-starved cousins, MochaMerry and Drippin.

"Quit stepping on my heels, Drippin!" said NescaFrodo, for the fourth time since they left TeaBagEnd.

"I'm sorry, NescaFrodo, but this Old Black Forest is so dark and scary!" Drippin squeaked, clinging to NescaFrodo's arm.

"What's wrong, Drippin?" MochaMerry teased his younger cousin, "Are you afraid of the trees? They don't eat half-caffs, you know?" 

"Then why are they all wearing bibs and smacking their lips when we walk by?" asked Drippin.

MochaMerry laughed heartily at him, until he stumbled over something hidden in the undergrowth. A small white skull rolled across the path and stopped at the root of one tree. The tree grinned innocently. 

"Wait! Listen..." NescaFrodo said, pausing on the path. Distantly, above the sound of a tree's growling stomach, he could hear a whistle, like steam from a simmering kettle. "And look! I think there is a path here. Let's follow it. We must find a way out of this strange forest!"

The path was faint, and the half-caffs had to pick their way carefully along, stepping over the bleaching bones of unfortunate wayfarers and partially digested naturalists, whose surprised expressions could sometimes still be discerned.

"I'll cheer you up, lads!" announced NescaFrodo. He began to sing a song, to try to lift his friends lagging spirits:

_O! Lingerers in the Starbucks line __  
__Swear not! for the coffee's fine, __  
__your time will come to order at last __  
__though you've missed your bus and the day's flown past: __  
__Watch the rising sun, the setting sun __  
__Standing in line is so much fun! __  
__For this queue moves slower than a snail..._

"Um, that's nice," said MochaMerry quietly, "but do shut up, NescaFrodo! You are making me crave coffee..."

"Look there!" cried Sanka, pointing.

The half-caffs looked ahead, and there in a clearing that looked as if there had once been a great bonfire, stood a strange creature. It was silver and black, blocky and tall, and there was foam frothing from its dispenser. All the air in the glade bore the strong scent of thick Italian coffee.

MochaMerry grinned, "Now that would cheer me up! Espresso anyone?" 

"Me! Me!" said Drippin, and he and MochaMerry ran forward heedlessly. NescaFrodo and Sanka hung back, not liking the look of the thing. 

"I do not understand or like machines more complicated than a forge-bellows, a water-mill, or a hand-loom, Mr. NescaFrodo, and that thing don't look like neither! Do you think it is safe?"

Just then, the great machine bend down and gulped both silly young half-caffs into its great metal maw, and closed its lid on their squeals of fright.

"That would be a 'no', Sanka," answered NescaFrodo.


	10. Chapter 10 Meet Tomug Bombadillatté

**Meet Tomug Bombadillatté**

Both half-caffs took the time to do some serious panicking. Nothing they said or did would make the evil percolator to regurgitate their hapless cohorts.

Finally, NescaFrodo began to scream for help.

Instantly, and to both NescaFrodo and Sanka's surprise, a strange voice answered. Something big was coming through the trees, singing in a strange language.

Frodo abruptly stopped yelling for help, and tapped Sam on the shoulder, pointing toward the path. A strange man, if indeed a man it was, had come out of the bushes and was staring at the scene. He was dressed bizarrely in lederhosen and cream-coloured linen, and he had socks of shocking yellow, contrasting in a retina-burning way with his electric blue fedora. He was carrying a travel-cup that was steaming gently.

"Help!" cried NescaFrodo and Sanka, running toward the stranger with their hands outstretched.

"Whoa! Steady there! You'll spill my coffee!" Tomug Bombadillatté said, and the hobbits froze.

"My friends are caught in the espresso machine!" said NescaFrodo desperately.

"Master MochaMerry is being cold-pressed!"

"What!" shouted Tomug, leaping into the air. His coffee slopped over his hand, unnoticed. "I know the brew for him! Old Espresso Man! I'll freeze his beans! I'll steam his milk, if he don't behave himself! I'll pull his plug! Old Espresso Man!"

NescaFrodo and Sanka back away from the man, who they now suspected to be utterly mad, and then they turned and ran for their lives.

A half-mile away, they came to a stop, panting. "It's a shame about Master MochaMerry and Mr. Drippin," said Sanka, wiping away his tears. "How can we leave them behind?"

"It's us or them, Sanka," said NescaFrodo. "I gotta get rid if this coffee-ring, and that means extreme measures. They can catch us up in Brie, if they can get away from that caffinated wildman. I just hope some giant doesn't grind their beans to make his brew." 

MochaMerry and Drippin come running up behind, and they pause for breath for a moment before beating the tar out of NescaFrodo and Sanka.

"That's for leaving us behind, you two krappachinos!" said MochaMerry as he gives NescaFrodo a furious noogie, holding him firmly in a headlock.

"Lucky that Javajunkie came along, though," added Drippin, while dunking Sanka in a nearby handy rainbarrel, "Now we can go have elevenses with you at Rivendell Perk!"

"We've got to get through The Big Old Cemetery Full Of Hungry Ghosts, first," said NescaFrodo, once his cousin had released him. He tried to smooth down his mussed hair, then stopped when remembered that it was that way normally.


	11. Chapter 11 The Hobbean,Unexpected Party

**Lord of the Coffee; The Hobbean  
An Unexpected TeaParty**

In a hole in a mound of ground coffee, there lived a half-caff. Not weak, diluted, instant coffee, filled with chicory and evapourated milk, nor yet some posh, trendy, yuppie-watering hole coffee, like those dime-a-dozen chintzy tearooms serve, with board games under the tables and jukebox-karaoke on Tuesday nights, filled with underaged customers and overpriced gourmet pastries: it was a half-caff café, and that means _good_ coffee.

It had a perfectly round door like a coffee can lid painted brown, with a wide thick coffee-stained welcome-mat stretched before it, and it was always open. Through a tunnel-like hall and down past the comfortable parlour, one finds a cozy kitchen with many polished cupboards, filled with mugs and cups of all sizes, and spoons, and saucers. There also one finds perhaps a bowl of cookies being mixed, a tray of fresh-baked scones just come out of the oven, and pies cooling on the sill. And always, near the fire, a great tureen of the finest coffee one ever tasted, in or out of the Shire.

This café-hole belonged to a very well-to-do half-caff, and his name was TeaBaggins. The TeaBagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of the Hillsbrothers for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, rich, and boring, but undeniably the brewers of the best coffee around. Hungry and predictable, that's what a TeaBaggins was; one never had to ask a question of a TeaBaggins, the answer would always be the same: "Are you going to eat that? Shame to let it go to waste... munch "

This is a story about how a TeaBaggins had an adventure and found himself doing, saying, and drinking things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbour's respect, but he gained-- well, you shall see whether he gained anything in the end, beyond a few extra pounds and several stamps in his passport.

By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the world, before the doors were unlocked and the 'open' sign turned around, when Bilbean TeaBaggins was sitting in front of his café after breakfast drinking an enormous cup of fresh coffee, with lots of thick, heavy cream and sweetening, just the way that half-caffs love their coffee-- Gandgulp came by. Gandgulp! If you have half as much about him than as I have, than I have heard twice as much as you! Teabags and poptarts sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion. I think he should have those holes in his pockets sewn shut soon.

But Gandgulp had not been to the café on the Hill for many years, and the half-caffs had almost forgotten what he looked like. All that the oblivious Bilbean saw that morning was an old man with a staff and a travelmug. He had a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, a silver scarf and long white beard under a magnificent milk-mustache.

"Good coffee!" said Bilbean, and he meant it. He was on his third cup, and everything was right and good in the world as far as he was concerned (you shouldn't catch him before his first cup, though, if you want to avoid getting your head bit off).

Gandgulp looked at him from under long bushy eyebrows. "What do you mean?" he said. "Do you offer me good coffee, or do you mean that the coffee is good whether I taste it or not, or do you think the coffee _is_ good, or are you telling your coffee to _be_ good?"

"Er..." Bilbean looked confused for a moment, but he sipped from his cup and shrugged. "All of the above... maybe... let me think about it for a minute. If you have a cup about you, sit down and have a fill. There's no hurry, and we have the whole day ahead of us to come down from the caffeine. Biscotti?" Bilbean offered a plate to the wizard, then took up his mug and blew the foam off the top, which lifted lightly into the air like a cloud and splattered all over the face of Bilbean's most annoying relative, Oafo Snackville-TeaBaggins, who was spying on Bilbean by peeking through the hedgerow.

"Good aim!" said Gandgulp. "But I have no time to blow foam and swill beans this morning. I am looking for someone to share an Adventure that I am arranging, and it's difficult to find any patsies... that is, brave and hearty souls who hunger for more than dollymadisons and cocoa-espressos!"

"I should think it _would_ be difficult-- in these parts! We are a plain quiet folk who have no use for anything more adventurous than a new flavour of vanilla syrup! Sobering, uncomfortable things! Make you late for your coffee-break!" Bilbean began to regret having starting this conversation. He decided to try to make the old man go away. "Are you looking for really good coffee? There's even better to be had than what I have. Just about anyone else has better coffee than I." He lifted his cup to his nose, sniffed, and made a face. "Eww! You don't want any of this, anyway." And he picked up his morning papers, determined to pretend that Gandgulp was no longer there. Inside the hole, a teakettle began to whistle. He ignored it.

But Gandgulp did not move. He leaned against his stick and watched Bilbean, until the half-caff become very uncomfortable under his bushy gaze. How on earth did he manage to get his contact lenses in past those brows? Bilbean wondered.

"What a lot of things you use coffee for!" Gandgulp said at last. "Now you mean that you want to get rid of me, and that your coffee won't be good till I take off!"

"Not at all, not at all," lied Bilbean. "My dear sir-- I don't believe I know your name?"

"Yes, yes, my dear sir," laughed the old man. "And I do know your name, Mr. Bilbean TeaBaggins. And you do know my name, though you don't remember that I belong to it. I am Gandgulp, and Gandgulp means I believe I will have a cup of your good coffee."

"Gandgulp! Great goulash! Not the wandering Wiseacre that gave the Old Tookus a pair of magic diamond-studded teacages that never got clogged? Not the fellow who used to serve such marvelous no-bake cookies and hot chocolate? Not the man that used to drink an entire pot of frenchroast and recite _'The Iliad'_ backward while standing in a trough of suet?"

Gandgulp shook his head, setting his long beard to waggling. "No, that wasn't me. I'm the other Gandgulp, the one that takes half-caffs on Adventures whether they like it or not. I think you'll like it, not at first maybe, and not perhaps at the last, and probably somewhere in the middle you will question my parentage, but eventually you might get a thing or two out of it that you won't regret finding."

Bilbean stood up so quickly he spilled coffee down his apron. "Sorry! I don't want any adventures, thank you! Not today! Ooh! Hot coffee! Um, please come back for tea sometime-- anytime you like! How about during the next planetary conjunction? I must run now, I have Kaluha in my socks!" Bilbean looked down at his feet, bare and covered with furry hair, standing in a pool of coffee. "Oh! I don't have any socks on! I must go put some on at once! Good bye!" With that, the half-caff turned and scuttled inside his round brown door, and shut it as quickly as he dared, tearing down the open sign and eating it.

"What on earth did I ask him to tea for!" Bilbean said to himself. He often talked to himself, especially when he had drank too much coffee. Now jittery and distraught by the strange old man, he headed into the kitchen, rescuing the teakettle before it boiled away. A nice strong cup of coffee was just what he needed to completely overload his nerves so that his synapses fused behind his eyeballs like a great gelatinous bundtcake.

Gandgulp in the meantime was still standing outside the door, and laughing long but quietly. He often laughed to himself, especially when he had drank too much coffee. After a while he stepped up, and with the sharp end of his staff scratched a strange sign on the half-caff's beautiful brown front-door, which read to all eyes that could see: "If you can read this, you're standing too close." Then he strode away, humming the jingle for OscarMeyer wieners under his breath.


	12. Chapter 12 Dance, Whitey, Dance!

**Dance, Whitey, Dance!**

_While the Half-caffs were but beginning their adventure in the BlackForest, away down South a Grey Wizeacre was making his way rapidly toward Isencoaster, the home of Sacchrineman the White..._

Gandgulp hurried up the steep stairs of Isencoaster, holding his grey skirts high to avoid tripping. He knocked on the door with his knobbly cocoawood staff and listened as it echoed though the great stone structure. After a few moments the door cracked open, and the wizard was regarded by a syrupy eye.

"Yeth?" the doorman lisped.

"Saccharineman, if you please."

"Amazing," mumbled the man, squinting at the wizard. "Your name is Saccharineman, too? There is a Saccharineman who lives here. Are you related?"

"No, I wish to **see** Saccharineman. My name is Gandgulp."

Upon hearing the grey wizard name himself, the doorman shrank down and slithered away. Gandgulp pushed the door open and followed the slime-trail into the center chamber of the tower.

There he found Saccharineman sitting in front of his make-up mirrors with all the lights blazing, carefully applying pancake to cut down the shine. He glanced up as Gandgulp entered. "No interviews," he said brusquely.

"Saccharineman the White, I have come to your for aid in this hour of need," Gandgulp intoned solemnly

"Come for my aide? What would you want to do with him? He can't even brew a decent cup of tea."

"Not for your 'assistant'! I have come for your help! Great movements are occurring in the world, and you must raise your head and look beyond your next script! The CoffeeRing has been found." 

Saccharineman dropped his powderpuff. "The CoffeeRing of Sour'on? Impossible! It has been washed out all these long years past." 

"I assure you it has not! We must pool our strength and work together to rid the world of this vile stain, before it spreads to all the linen in Middle girth, and then not all the salt or Perrier in the world will be sufficient to rinse it out!"

Saccharineman affected disbelief, but his eyes glowed with lust. "It is said that he who possesses the CoffeeRing commands great power. The residue of the might of Sour'on at the height of his strength is concentrated in that smudge. Much could one do, who commands such an item."

Gandgulp gaped at the white wizard. "We cannot contemplate using this thing! It's deadly power is corrupting to any who possess great might or wisdom! And one touch of this thing will embitter all the coffee in the land and taint even the brightest robes."

Saccharineman stood up, and he shed his dressing gown. Gandgulp gasped and beheld the White Wizard, now no longer white, but sequined in many colours. 

"I am no longer Saccharineman the White, but Sweet'ums, the interpretive dancer! Let me demonstrate, and then you will know, Gandgulp the meddling Grey Wizard, who is mightiest. **Maestro!**" 

And a great well of music began and Saccharineman, to Gandgulp's distress, began to leap and pirouette around the room, his slippers squeaking on the shiny black stone floor. The grey wizard was mesmerized by the unholy sight of a man-like figure of very, very advanced years in a spandex bodysuit.

"And now," said Saccharineman, "You will remain here until you tell me where the CoffeeRing may be found. You can be my audience." 

"Don't you have a nice cold, dark dungeon or some bitter pinnacle of a tower you can confine me to?" asked Gandgulp, too shocked and horrified to look away.

Sacchraineman waved a hand, and a group of horcs, wearing blinders and with wads of marshmallow jammed into their ears, took Gandgulp away and isolated him on the very top of Isencoaster tower, where an icy rain began to fall.

Gandgulp sighed with relief, now unable to hear the sugary music. He wrapped his arms around himself and peered over the edge, observing the plunge of many hundred feet to the stony grounds below. 

"NescaFrodo's going to kill me for being late," Gandgulp lamented, gazing toward the North. "I hope that Ranger got my E-memo." suddenly, a speck in the darkling sky caught the Wizard's eye, and he noted with joy that there was a mighty creature winging toward his prison.

"This is a joy beyond any hope!" Gandgulp cried, as the mighty giant Bagel of Manwëhous circled below. With a "Whooo-**HOOO**!" the old Wizard dove off of the tower and landed neatly in the round center of the magnificent rescuing bread-beast.

"Take me to where I may find a fitting steed, oh Phyllohir, Lord of the Flaky Skies, to bear me back to Eriador!"

"I shall take ye to Breadoras, where ye will find a steed of unsurpassed speed. Hey, no snacking!"

"Sorry," mumbled the wizard, wiping crumbs from his beard. "It's just that you are so fresh and tasty..."

"Ye will find some welcome in the Hall of King Karóden, though it may not be a warm welcome, nor a comfortable one. I will bear ye there, if ye refrain from nibbling on me!"

And so the mighty winged Bagel bore Gandgulp the Grey to the land of Yuban, where still another plot-twist awaits unraveling.


	13. Chapter 13 Rags To Witches

**Rags To Witches**

The half-caffs travelled on into a world of green hills, happily without a single flesh-eating tree in sight. They made good progress, seeing absolutely no other living thing except some birds for the entire day. At noon, they stopped for a coffee-break in the shadow of a tall plinth (a plinth is basically a henge without a lintel), and though they drank many cups of strong Shire coffee, they became drowsy in the heat and took a long nap.

When they awoke, surprised and dismayed about the sleep they had not meant to take, the sun was the colour of pale lemonade and gleaming through the mist just above the west wall of the hollow in which they lay. All around the green hills were blanketed with a thick, unnatural fog. As they watched, the thick white mist surged up their hill like foam on a latté, and leapt like a wall in front of them to close over their heads like a tidal wave of milk. They felt as if a trap had been closed on them.

Still, they did not lose hope. The half-caffs gathered their things and began to move, heading toward the remembered path and the exit they had seen earlier that day, which had looked as if it were not too far away, just a bit of a road through an old cemetery full of tombstones that had gleamed like white Chicklets in the afternoon sun.

Now all was grey and dark under the fog. NescaFrodo raised a hand to call a halt, which, of course, his companions did not see. They ran into NescaFrodo and tripped over each other.

"Get off!" NescaFrodo cried. "I can smell something... delicious! Up ahead! Follow me..."

Rags the Barrow-wight turned off the smoke-machine, taking a moment to savour the effect. It was certainly spooky, definitely worthy of gold he had spent on it. He moved about, dragging his trailing shrouds behind, fussily re-arranging the heap of skulls and detritus that was stacked to effect outside of his own tomb. He cast a jealous eye toward his neighbour's tomb; Bones Jones's crypt was magnificently arrayed in cobwebs, swaying moodily in a breeze that seemed to exhale the chill of the grave. "Now, _that_ is ambiance," thought Rags, gnawed with envy, "how dose he **do** it?"

Rags drifted inside his own humble tomb and began to prepare for his expected company. The message from his Witchkingliness had been fairly vague, but firm. _"Kill the half-caffs,"_ it had said, but Rags had been without living company for what seemed like centuries. Surely, since Rags was going to follow his orders, would it kill him to be a little hospitable first? After all, he was already dead!

Chuckling at his own grisly joke, Rags began to mix the ingredient for chocolate chip cookies. "I do hope I have enough placemats for everyone," he muttered worriedly.

The half-caffs soon were completely and utterly lost, and of course, completely and utterly unaware of it. They came trooping steadily up to the entrance of Rag's barrow, following the scent of baking cookies as if it were the song of a siren, calling to them. As they drew near, they began to hear a low voice, singing a dirge-like tune:

_Cold be cup and saucer and spoon __  
__And cold be coffee served at noon __  
__Since morning it has sat and brewed __  
__And someone, in an ornery mood, __  
__Has turned off, it no longer perks __  
__Like muddy water in my cup it lurks __  
__And one sip make me grimace and howl __  
__A java-monster, bitter and foul __  
__Cold as death and thick as sin, __  
__And makes me mean like Gunga-din._

Frightened, but still entranced by the smell of food, the half-caffs approached the source of the singing and the smell, and found a dark opening in the side of one tall hill, ringed about with the debris of death. They stopped, unwilling to enter such a horrible place. They were about to turn and run, but they hesitated when they heard the clear sound of a percolating coffeepot.

"Here!" Rags leapt suddenly out of the pile of bones, causing the half-caffs to scatter in terror. "I have been waiting for you!" he called after them, brandishing a plate of fingerfood. "Horror'durves, anyone?"


	14. Chapter 14 The Percolating Pony

**At the Sign of the Percolating Pony**

NescaFrodo and his friends ran until they left the barrow-downs far behind. They had run so fast that they were shortly halted-up by the solidity of a large wooden gate that was closed tight against the night. In the centre of the gate was a rickety door.

NescaFrodo pounded on the door with his small fist. He turned to the others, all of them panting and gasping for breath behind him, and said, "Don't make yourselves too much at home. And please remember--all of you--that the name of TeaBaggins is NOT to be mentioned! I am Mr. Coffee, if any name must be given!"

It began to rain, and NescaFrodo pounded on the door again. Finally, a man came out of the little hut on the other side of the gate and peered over it at them, blinking.

"Waddaya wan'?" he asked brusquely.

"We're looking for a decent coffeehouse," answered NescaFrodo. "We are journeying east, and can go no further without a stiff cup of joe."

"It'll be the Meanderin' Mule you'll be wantin', then... or maybe the Pirouetting Ploughhorse. The Nancing Nag is closed after sundown, but you can still get a cuppa at the Caperin' Clydesdale, as long as your not underage."

"How many cafés do they have in this burg?" mumbled MochaMerry to Drippin.

"Hey!" the man looked closely at them. "You aren't kids, now, are ye? Yer 'alf-caffs! Out o' the Shire by the looks of ye!" He opened the gate and waved them through. "Jes' follow the road. It'll lead you to the Brie Strip, where the all-nigh' coffeehouses are. Choose wisely; there's a fair amount o' strange folk wanderin' about this time o' night! Get ye into the Percolatin' Pony, little masters. Tha's the place for ye and your sort. Tell 'em 'Arry Tealeaf sent ye!"

As the hurried away through the squelching mud, the gatekeeper watched after them, then he closed the door. On the inside of the door, pinned by nails, was a wanted poster depicting four short, curly-haired, round-faced individuals who bore striking resemblance to the four half-caffs he had just admitted. The caption read: "Reward offered for information leading to the whereabouts of this notorious Half-caff gang known as the 'TeaBurlgars'. If seen, report to Bill Foamy, the Percolating Pony, the dark table way in the back."

Harry Tealeaf chuckled and took down the poster, rolling it and stuffing it in his pocket. He turned and went back inside his shack to douse the fire. While he was busy, a dark shadow appeared at the gate and climbed swiftly over it, melting into the shadows within the village streets.

_And the creepy music soars in the background..._

At the Sign of the Percolating Pony, NescaFrodo was drawn to a sudden halt as the door he had been about to knock on suddenly flew open, ejecting two extremely drunken cow-herders. They sailed over the walk and into a large puddle of mud. The man who had escorted them out dusted his hands and turned to go back inside, then caught sight of the half-caffs hesitating on the boardwalk.

"Hullo, little masters!" the man said in a friendly way. "I am Barleycorn Butterrum. If it's accommodations yer seeking, yer've come to the right place! Always happy to cater to Little Folk, I am. Ye don't drink half as much as these lam-blasted, black-cloaked, shiftless characters we have lurking about! Come in, come in! I just put the kettle on..." he led the way inside the inn, closing the door on the rain and the night. Neither he nor the half-caffs noticed the dark shadow that came in right behind Sanka.

They took off their cloaks and hung them to dry on pegs by the door. There was a loud, rowdy crowd of folk inside. There was what sounded like a local cow shed band playing on a low stage and it looked like someone was crowd-surfing, but that was actually the half-caff waiter being passed back toward the bar for refills by the thirsty patrons. He wore a face of patient humiliation, carrying his tray on his tummy. 

Barleycorn cast an eye around the bar and spotted a low table that was not occupied, being designed specifically for half-sized customers. "There's a table, little masters... unless you'd rather dine in a private parlour?"

"Are you kidding?" asked Drippin, eyeing the activity in the bar with an almost painful look of excitement on his face. "I haven't been to a concert since... since before I was born! Please, NescaFrodo... pleeeeeeeease?" Without hearing his cousin's answer, he dashed off toward the bar and began talking to a group of dark-clad Big Folk beside the bar.

NescaFrodo sighed and took a seat at the table. "Why not?" he said, glancing over the menu. "As long as we stick together and remain inconspicuous, right, guys?... guys?"

NescaFrodo found that he was now alone at the table. MochaMerry had disappeared into the crowd, intent on joining the stage-diving, and Sanka was chatting animatedly with the half-caff staff, comparing 'who's-got-the-most-co-dependant-master' stories. When Barleycorn returned to the table to take his order, NescaFrodo merely tossed aside the menu and said, "Bring me a pint of Ben&Jerry's Caffé Extreme-o Espresso ice cream please. I can tell this is going to be a long night."


	15. Chapter 15 The Breecapades

**Coffee With Frodo: The Bree-Capades **

There was trouble brewing in the Percolating Pony, and no mistake!

NescaFrodo set aside his half-eaten ice cream and climbed up on the table, waving his arms and trying to attract attention from Drippin, who was carefully explaining their travel itinerary to nine bony, black clad figures who were taking notes and holding out small voice recorders. He began to belt out a song, somehow thinking that this would preserve his anonymity. What exactly does Barliman serve in those mugs?

_to the metre of The Cat and the Fiddle_

_There is a cafe, a funny cafe,  
Beneath a neon sign  
And there the brew coffee so black  
That it would give Sour'on a heart-attack  
If He came in there to dine._

_The landlord has a nervous cat  
That has a broken tail  
It lurks beneath the rocking chairs  
And generously sheds it's nasty hairs  
Upon my brand-new mail_

_The olster is a tipsy fool  
Who spikes the sugar bowls  
Dumps them out onto his head  
And fills them up with salt instead  
And glues shut all the holes_

_The beans they have are the finest ground  
Superior to all  
If you drink a single cup  
The caffeine will surely sit you up  
And then lay you on the floor!_

_So hang your cloak and join the queue  
If there is no one to mourn ya  
For certain the coffee keeps you awake  
But your last few brain-cells it will bake  
Don't say I didn't warn ya!_

There was loud and long applause. NescaFrodo had a good voice, and the song tickled their fancy. "Where's old Barleycorn Butterrum?" they cried. "He ought to hear this. Let's have it again, little master!"

They made NescaFrodo have another cup of coffee, and then begin his song again. It was Frodo's turn to feel pleased with himself. He capered about and when he ended his song, he dismounted with a triple summersault and with a half-twist, and came down on top of a dark and mysterious Ranger who had been trying to communicate to him in semaphore.

NescaFrodo's audience each held up white cards, with various numbers rating his performance. A debate broke out about the inclusion of the Ranger and whether that constituted assistance.

The Ranger quickly threw his cloak over the half-caff's head and carried him out of the room while the patrons were arguing about the rules of The Barroom Olympics, and once he found a quiet room, he closed the door and released NescaFrodo.

"Well, that was a stupid thing to do! Why didn't you just stand up and say, 'Hi! My name is NescaFrodo and I am carrying a Coffee Ring!' " the Ranger said brusquely.

"Why? Do you think it would have improved my score?" said NescaFrodo angrily. "Who are you, anyway?"

"My name is Styroamer," he answered, "Don't be alarmed! I have come to help you. I will guide you to Rivendell Perk. Gandgulp sent me."

"Gandgulp the Grey Wizard? Where is he?" asked NescaFrodo eagerly.

At that moment, Sanka, Drippin, and MochaMerry burst into the door. Their clothes were torn and their wigs askew. They slammed the door closed with an effort. Outside a mob of wraiths howled and shrieked and begged for autographs and photos.

Sanka eyed the Ranger warily. "Who is this clown, Mr NescaFrodo? And how are we going to get out of here? Those black-robed fans are positively rabid. I think they are paparazzi."

"They are worse than that, little half-caff." said Styroamer, "They are the _Nutrilights_, the coffeewraiths of Sour'on. They will be watching the road night and day. You may escape from this cafè and be allowed to go forward while the sun is up, but you won't get far. They will come on you in the wild, in some dark place where there are no bouncers. Do you wish for them to find you? They are terrible!

"You fear them, but you do not fear them enough, yet. I will take you by paths seldom trodden, to Rivendell Perk where you may find help. What have you got to lose?"

There was a heavy silence. NescaFrodo made no answer, his mind was confused and his coffee rush was ebbing. He began to doze off. Sanka frowned and looked at his master; and at last he broke out:

"With your leave, Mr. NescaFrodo, I 'd say no! This Styroamer here, he warns and he says take care; and I say yes to that, and let's begin with him!"

NescaFrodo blinked and yawned. "I believe he is a friend, Sanka, despite his appearance. He has annoyed me several times tonight, but never in the way that the servants of the Enemy would, or so I imagine. One of Sour'on's spies would-- well, look fairer and feel fouler, if you understand."

The half-caffs glanced at the Ranger uneasily. Fairer he could look, but fouler they couldn't imagine. Maybe NescaFrodo had hit his head when he fell off of the table.


	16. Chapter 16 Getting to Know Your Ranger

**Getting To Know Your Ranger**

Sitting in the inn in Brie, NescaFrodo looked around at his friends, very aware still of the dark stare of the Ranger upon him. "I wonder where Gandgulp could be," he murmured aloud. "He said he would meet us here. What can have happened to him?" Behind him, the closed and barred door of the room shook as the wraith-fans threw themselves against the panel, begging for a souvenir or the privilege of bearing children for them.

To Styroamer, he said loudly, "Why did not Gandgulp make mention of you before to me? Who are you really? Can you produce a cover-letter?"

Styroamer shrugged and gestured with his coffee cup for the half-caffs to be seated and relax. "I like to work undercover. Top secret, you know..." and he laid a finger against his nose and winked at NescaFrodo. "Low profile. Gandgulp and I are friends of old. We have traveled very far together, and on many adventures both dark and icky. I have but a single proof to offer that I am who I say I am, but whether you believe it or not is up to you.

"This poem was written for me by someone who is close to you, NescaFrodo of the Shire. For I am Aromagorn, son of Aromatherapy, and these words go with that name..." and the Man began to sing in a rough, low voice:

_All that is brewed is not bitter __  
__Who asks for directions is lost __  
__How did I end up a 'hobbit-sitter'? __  
__Dwarves who hesitate soon will get tossed ___

_A Ranger must learn very early __  
__Which cafe's espresso is best __  
__And to drink with pinky down (don't be girly) __  
__Blackperk really puts hair on your chest!"_

Aromagorn settled back and eyed his audience for a moment. "Well?" he asked.

Drippin and MochaMerry exchanged bland looks, while NescaFrodo appeared thoughtful, and Sanka was scratching his head.

"I wonder..." NescaFrodo began to say.

"Yes?" prompted Styroamer.

In unison, MochaMerry and Drippin quiped up, "We wonder what you did with the money your parents gave you for singing lessons!" There was a distant rumble of thunder like a rimshot.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Mr. NescaFrodo... I mean, Mr. Coffee... I," Sanka broke off, confused. "What I'm I supposed to call you again?" Sanka blinked and continued, "I'm thinking that your Uncle Bilbean must have wrote that song, sir. It sounds like his words." His eyes were still full of distrust as he looked upon the tall stranger in his coffee-stained travel clothes.

NescaFrodo frowned and glanced at Styroamer. "Is that so? Do you know my uncle?"

"I do. I dwelled for a time in Rivendell Perk. I can lead you there by secret roads, eluding the _Nútralites_ in the wilds. Will you have me?"

Behind them, the door quivered again, as the fans outside began to hammer in earnest against the oak panel, using what sounded like Barleycorn Butterrum as a battering ram.

NescaFrodo caught up his pack and nodded to the others. "We have no choice but to trust him. Lead the way, Longshanks!"

They followed the Man out of the inn and disappeared into the night that surrounded the village, black as chicory bile. As they stumbled along, MochaMerry caught NescaFrodo's arm and whispered hoarsely, "How do you know he is a friend of Gandgulp and Cousin Bilbean? How do you know we can trust him?"

"I don't really know, MochaMerry, but he's got this going for him," answered NescaFrodo, ticking off each point on his fingers, "He's not undead, he's not wearing black shrouds, he doesn't speak in a shriek that would bend metal, and he drinks his coffee with cream and two sugars... that's good enough for me!"


	17. Chapter 17 Java of the Ainur: Dwarves

**Lord of the Coffee: Java of the Ainur ****  
****The Making Of The Dwarves**

Greatly did Aulatté the Masterbrewer desire the coming of the Children, to have learners to who he could teach his lore and crafts of grinding and brewing beans, and he was unwilling to await the fulfillment of the designs of Brewlúvatar.

And Aulatté made the Dwarves even as they still are, and because the power of Maxwellcôr was yet over the earth, he wished them therefore to be strong and unyielding, to drink the dark black coffee and not sweeten or lighten it with cream.

And Brewlúvatar knew what was done, and he said to Aulatté, "Why hast thou done this? Thou hast from me as a gift thy own bean only, and therefore the creatures of thy hand and mind can live only by that bean, moving only when thou thinkest to move them, and if thy thought be elsewhere, standing idle around the coffeemaker, making jokes. Is that thy desire?"

Then Aulatté answered, "I do not desire such; in my impatience I have fallen into folly. Yet the brewing of coffee is in my heart from my own making by thee: and the child of little understanding that makes a cup of the beans of his father may do so without thought of mockery. But what shall I do now, so that you will not be angry with me for ever? As a child to his father, I offer to thee this thing, the work if the beans which you have brewed. Do with it what you will. But would you not rather drink the work of my presumption?" 

"**_Yuck!_** Without cream or sugar?"


	18. Chapter 18 Bilbean's Bath Song

**Lord of the Coffee, music for the ****Official Movie Parody Soundtrack**  
soon to be available for sale in Bree, Erebor, Amroth, and some  
bootleg copies from Umbar (record pirates! arr! curses!)

_to the tune of Bilbo's Bath Song _

Sing Hey! for a cup at the start of Day  
That Sanka brings me on a tray  
A dink is he that will not drink  
O Coffee Hot is what I need to think!

Water we may pour at need  
Down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed  
But better is that to wash my face  
Drinking Coffee Black makes my heartbeat race!

Sweet is the wine that at dinner we sip  
Cool is the beer down our double-chins drip  
But Hot Coffee is the drink for me  
I can't wake up 'til I've'd two or three!

Sing Hey! for a cuppa at close of day  
Shire Sludge is the brew I crave  
For Arabica Beans up a mountain I'd crawl  
And with another cup, I won't sleep at all!


	19. Chapter 19 The Marshmallowmarshish

**The Marshmallowmarsh**

Escaping from Brie was less onerous than the half-caffs had feared it would be. After arranging for supplies and a pony, and enduring a brief Q&A session with the townsfolk (no photos, please!) NescaFrodo and his friends managed to slip away unbeknownst to exactly two of the town's residents (both deceased). Their wiley Ranger and guide immediately began to lead them on a tricky path to confuse their trail, before they even left the village proper, so everyone was rather baffled when they arrived again at the Percolating Pony.

"It works every time," Styroamer said, with a wink.

Now they crossed country, fair in the late fall, leaves turning colours and late fruit hanging ripe from the boughs. But their autumnal splendor could not last, for too soon they arrived at the edge of the dreaded Bridgemix Marsh.

Here they met their first daunting obstacle: How would they navigate the chocolaty marsh, with its cocoa-quicksand and its treacherous cherry-phosphate pools? For three days, Styroamer was dragging the half-caffs out of candy-traps, herding them away from syrup fountains, and constantly reminding them to brush their teeth after snacks. Eventually, they arrived at the other side, each wearing a shiny chocolate coating and none of them having escaped gaining a few pounds.

Styroamer reached down and pinched his new love-handles ruefully.

"Oh, well... Arwenchiel has always said she wanted to see **more** of me..."


	20. Chapter 20 NescaFrodo on Amon Syrup

**NescaFrodo on Amon Syrup **

To keep the darkness and fear at bay, the half-caffs called for tales or songs. Sanka stood up, clasping his hands behind his back as if he were in school, and began to recite:

_Gil-Grande was an Elven-King __  
__Of him the Harpers sadly sing __  
__Who's coffee was both sweet and light __  
__With temperature always just right _

_His stirrers long, his mugs were clean, __  
__The freshest milk was newly steamed, __  
__And all the beans in Juan Valdez's field __  
__Could not out-match his handpicked yield. _

_But long ago his kettle cooled __  
__His upset coffee slowly pooled __  
__He's gone to where he won't come back __  
__To Mordonut, where the coffee's black _

_The DarkLord Sour'on he battled, mug-to-mug __  
__But was vanquished by that oily thug __  
__And tho fair as any elf could boast __  
__Poor Gil-Grande's brand became darkroast _

_Rumour has it he's still there __  
__Serving coffee, ever fair __  
__To the minions of the Eye __  
__Gil-Grande; far too great to die! _

"That is very good, Sanka!" NescaFrodo exclaimed, applauding.

While Sanka was taking his bows and signing autographs, a dark, foul-smelling wraith slipped up beside NescaFrodo and dumped some powdery white crystals in his steaming coffee cup.

Idly stirring his coffee, he did not notice that his silver spoon melted with a **glop** into his saucer. NescaFrodo took a great drink, and then spat his coffee into the fire, putting it out.

"Ugh! What is that foulness?"

Styroamer sniffed at NescaFrodo's coffeecup and exclaimed, "You have been given Saccharine! Poisoned by the evil wights of Sour'on, the Dark Lord of Un-Sugar!"

NescaFrodo's face was waxy-pale, and he began to shake and sweat suddenly. Sanka ran to his side and took his hand. "What can we do, Styroamer? Can you cure him?"

"I have not the skill to combat this nefarious substance," answered Styroamer, (scoring 75 points on their game of Highway Scrabble), "We must get him to Rivendell Perk quickly, where Lord Elground may heal him with an infusion of creamcheese danish and mint tea. Alas, what a foul thing to have happen!"

"Is he going to..." began Drippin, tears forming in his sweet eyes, "Is he going to die?"

"Maybe, Drippin," said Styroamer. MochaMerry and Drippin began to sob uncontrollably. "And if he does, 'twil be better than the fate that awaits him. Mayhap he will be transformed (25 points) into a _Nutralight_, a coffeewraith of Sour'on, and eventually," he lowered his voice so that NescaFrodo could not hear, "He may turn into Richard Simmons!"

"NO!" chorused the half-caffs in horror, and they picked up NescaFrodo and hustled him off toward Rivendell Perk.

NescaFrodo muttered in a dream, "Deal-a-meal..." They ran faster.

Suddenly on the road behind them, they heard hoofbeats, and a great gleaming white horse appeared, with a fair and handsome Elf riding it. Gleaming stones of wondrous jewel-work were on his headstall, and silver bells rang in the wind of his passage. It raced up to them and halted. The Elf slid down from the saddleblanket and gave Styroamer a secret handshake.

_"May Godiva! Eruts chocky ala caffe!"_ which in Elvish means "Hullo! have you any girlscout cookies for sale?"

"Glorfindelano! I am most pleased to see you!" Styroamer explained their deadly predicament (85 points), and the Elf hurriedly took NescaFrodo with him upon his steed Arabica, and they raced away like the flowing coffee down the throats of many sleepy day-trippers.

"How will we come to Rivendell Perk, Styroamer? Will we have to walk all the way?" asked MochaMerry.

"Nay, we shall get a ride from those friendly looking horsemen who are riding up, even now," and Styroamer stuck out his hitching thumb. Sanka, Drippin and MochaMerry tackled him into the ditch before the _Nutralights_ could ride him down.

"Well, how do you like that?" complained Styroamer, as he extracted himself from under the half-caffs. "There goes the wilderness!"

_For rules to Highway Scrabble, email Styroamer _(DunadanishWilderland.trot)


	21. Chapter 21 Pining for the Ford

**Pining for the Ford**

_In the story previous, our brave NescaFrodo had imbibed a cup of java foully tainted with saccharine, and now his rescuer Glorfindelano races to deliver him to safety.  
__Remember, if we at Glory's Delivery and Balrog-slaying service don't deliver your half-caff in 30 minutes or less, the next one is free!  
(no deliveries East of Hithaglir or South of the Gap of Yuban)_

Arabica ran on, bells tinkling and jeweled headstall flashing in the sunlight. Glorfindelano held the thinning NescaFrodo before him as they rode, and frequently the half-caff would murmur things like, "It feels good to sweat," or "Count those calories away."

Behind them, the _Nutralights_ rode tirelessly, gnashing their caffeine-stained teeth and rattling their rusty swords, determined to obtain the One CoffeeRing and return it to their master, so he would get off their case, already! They could smell the CoffeeRing, so close they were at last come, and they howled and begged in falsetto voices, "Come back! To Mordonut we shall take you! We will do lunch!"

Glorfindelano ignored these entreaties, and NescaFrodo was too far gone with saccharine-poisoning to listen. He was already losing weight, his fine Shire linen changing to spandex and cotton-rayon tanktop on matching pastel colours. His face was no longer round and jolly, but sunken and pale, with hollow cheeks and hair gone dry and brittle. "Boogie your bulges away," NescaFrodo said weakly.

They splashed across the Ford of Brewin', and the _Nutralights_ were foiled by the sugary water that flowed before them, for their artificially sweetened incorpulent (80 pts) forms could not bear the touch of its pure current of confection.

Just in time, Glorfindelano reached the valley of Imladrip, and took NescaFrodo to the Last Homely CoffeeHouse of Elground, the Edainish. Here was the splendid cafe of the Elves, Rivendell Perk. Glorfindelano hurried the failing NescaFrodo inside, where Elground quickly cured him of his crash diet.

Styroamer and the three other half-caffs arrived some time later, all covered with bruises and scratches from their last debate about the Ranger's interpretation of the rules of Highway Scrabble. (Apparently, Styroamer had tried to convince them that Elvish words were worth triple points, but they weren't having any of that!) They ran to see NescaFrodo, who was sitting up in his bed, eating a blueberry tart. They rejoiced that he was no longer reduced and decaffeinated.

But their joy could not last forever. Soon Gandgulp himself, together with Elground and Styroamer, now called Aromagorn, summoned all the half-caffs into the council chamber for another debate. Sanka trailed along behind NescaFrodo, alternately feeding him chocolate-covered coffeebeans and sighing with relief that his Master was safe for the moment.


	22. Chapter 22 Imladrip House of Pancakes

**Imladrip House Of Pancakes**

NescaFrodo was now safe in the Last Homely Café east of the Sea, the Imladrip House of Pancakes. That house was, as Bilbean had long ago reported, 'a perfect house, whether you like food or coffee, or gossiping or karaoke, or just sitting and playing solitaire or mahjongg best, or a pleasant mixture of them all, with biscuits'. Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, anorexia, and acid reflux.

When he woke from his healing sleep, NescaFrodo began to prepare himself for the evening, dressing in the fine clothes that the Elves had laid out for him; well-made garments in the rich brown colour of seasoned coffeebeans that fitted him excellently and complimented his complexion. Looking in the mirror he was startled to see a much thinner reflection of himself than he remembered. He would have to apply himself to dinner and correct the damage done by his inadvertent crash-diet.

There was a knock on the door, and Sanka came in. He ran to NescaFrodo and took his left hand, shaking it heartily.

"Hullo, Sanka!" said NescaFrodo.

"Glory and trumpets, it's fine to see you up and yourself again, sir! I didn't like that Mr. Simmons fellow you were turning into... he made me feel all funny, sir. Gandgulp asked me to come and see if you're ready to come down, and I thought he was joking."

"I am ready," said NescaFrodo. "Let's go and look for some dessert!"

"I can take you to it, sir," said Sanka. "It's a big house this, and very peculiar. Designed by some chap named Escher, I think I heard say. And the staircases like to move."

"Weird," said NescaFrodo.

Sanka led him along several passages and down many steps and out into a high garden above the steep bank of the river. He found his friends sitting in a porch on the side of the house looking east, drinking coffee.

"Hurray!" cried Drippin, springing up when he saw them. "Here is our noble cousin! Make way for NescaFrodo, Lord of the Coffee!"

"Hush!" said Gandgulp, cuffing the young hobbit on the back of his hard little head. "Evil things do not come into this valley, but all the same we should not invite them to tea. The Lord of the Coffee is not NescaFrodo, but the master of the Dark Café of Mordonut, whose franchise is again spreading out over the world! We are sitting in a cozy café. Elsewhere, the coffee is weak and overpriced." 

"Gandgulp has been saying many cheerful things like that," said Drippin. "He thinks I need keeping in order. But it seems impossible, somehow, to feel gloomy or drowsy in this place. I feel as if I could sing, if only I hadn't spent the money my folks gave me for music lessons on mandarin orange cheesecake!"

"I feel as though I would like a slice of that myself," laughed NescaFrodo. "Do they deliver?"

"There's better than that here, dear cousin," said Drippin. "You have shown your usual cunning in getting up just in time for a snack."

"More than a snack! A feast!" said MochaMerry. "As soon as Gandgulp reported that you were recovered the baking and steeping began!" Overhead, a bell began to peal, summoning all to the buffet.

The hall of Elground's house was filled with folk; Elves, travelers, Elves, Dwarves, Elves, models, not-ready-for-Primetime-players, more Elves, and of course, the Half-caffs who were NescaFrodo's cousins and friends.

Elground, as was his custom, sat in a great chair at the end of the long table upon a dais; and next to him on the one side sat Glorfindelano, on the other side sat Gandgulp.

NescaFrodo looked upon them in wonder. Gandgulp, who NescaFrodo thought he knew so well, was wearing a party hat of blue foil, sipping strong Italian espresso.

Glorfindelano was tall and straight; his hair was of shining gold, like Columbia Roast coffeebeans; his face was fair and appeared way too young to be drinking coffee. He was sipping cappuccino and had a mustache of whipped cream.

The face of Elground was ageless, neither young nor old, though in it was written the memory of many cups of coffee both bitter and sweet. His hair was dark as Grecian Formula could make it, and upon it was set a circlet of silver. He appeared both as a venerable king and a hale and hearty warrior. He was the Lord of Imladrip and mighty among both Cupcakes and Customers.

In the middle of the table, against the woven cloths upon the wall, there was a chair under a canopy, and there sat a lady easy to look upon. So like was she in form of womanhood to Lord Elground that she seemed she must be his gender-nonspecific stunt-double. In truth, she was his daughter, Arwenchiel. Such loveliness in living thing NescaFrodo had never seen before nor imagined in his mind, and he was both surprised and abashed to find he had a seat among all these folk so high and fair. What NescaFrodo did not know was that the place cards had been carefully arranged by the Lady Arwenchiel, so that those who looked on might not notice that he was prettier than she was.

On NescaFrodo's right sat a Dwarf of some importance. On his left sat an Elf. Their placecards read 'Gloinchop' and 'Gildoroy Inglorionion'. Both were ignoring the other and studying their menus.

NescaFrodo picked up his tasseled menu and regarded it. In an effort to alleviate the tension at the table, he leaned toward the Elf and asked, "Do you recommend the pancakes or the French toast?" 

Gildoroy looked at him curiously. "Well you should ask, little master! Fluffy are the pancakes of Elgrond's house, but crispy and tender are the French toast slices, dusted with powered sugar and cinnamon. Yet both are high in carbohydrates. It leads one to consider the crêpes... they are definitely the choice of the Eldar... usually."

The Dwarf snorted on NescaFrodo's other side. "Ask not the Elves for advice, for they will answer both yes and no, and they waffle!" Gildoroy casually hooked his foot under one of Gloinchop's chair-legs and gave it a pull. The Dwarf disappeared under the table with a howl.

"Good idea, porkfat," the Elf said airily. "Try the waffles... they do them up a treat here."


	23. Chapter 23 The Hall of Flame

**The Imladris Hall of Flame**

NescaFrodo did not recall much of the feast afterward, only that the food was good, the coffee excellent, and that Dwarves and Elves should not be allowed sharp implements like forks while dining in mixed company. Leaving Gildoroy and Gloinchop to their imbroglio, he followed Lord Elground out of the feast hall and down the corridor, following the sounds of music echoing through the dark passages.

He came to the Hall of Flame, where many popular and classical Elven artists had been inducted, (as well as indentured) and were now playing sweet music and singing joyfully (and in some cases, somewhat forcefully). Many of the hall guests were lying on beanbags, sipping coffee and tea, or hanging around the stage, waving lit candles and swaying. Lindiranged and the All Elven Mouthharp Orchestra was just winding into their version of 'You're so vain'. Arwenchiel was listening, but not smiling at all.

In a remote corner, next to a small hearthfire, sat a small figure, puffing on a pipe. NescaFrodo was drawn to him; he looked oddly familiar in this weird Elvish discotheque. The half-caff approached him cautiously.

Lord Elground clapped a hand on NescaFrodo's shoulder and propelled him gently toward the figure.

"This is the moment you have been looking forward to, NescaFrodo! Here is a friend you have long missed!"

"Bilbean?" NescaFrodo asked hopefully. The figure raised his head. It was not Bilbean! "Who are you, sir?"

"My name is Tolkien. I am standing in for Bilbean for a moment; he lost our bet and had to go for coffee. I am glad to get to meet you at last, NescaFrodo. I want to apologize to you on behalf of the person writing this parody. She says she is sorry about the hard times you are going to be having, but there's really no other way to go. 'Angst Sells', that's her motto."

NescaFrodo was speechless. "Are you really Mr. Tolkien? Wow! How come you don't have a coffee-name like all of us?"

"She wouldn't dare," Tolkien said softly, eyeing the writer.

"I am glad to meet you, too, Mr. Tolkien. I have a question for you, if you don't mind..."

The old man puffed on his pipe. "Ask me anything," he said amid a cloud of Old Toblerone.

"Well, I was wondering about a few things, actually... Who is Tom Bombadil? And where are the Entwives? Just how long do Elves live, and can drinking too much coffee really stunt your growth? How many shillings are in an American dollar, and when will Hollywood learn that the average moviegoer has more intelligence than a boiled peanut?" 

"Good questions, all... oh, is that the time? You must excuse me, my dear NescaFrodo. I just remembered that I have an appointment with some American movie-producer named George Lucas... he has a screenplay he needs advice on. I'll see you later..." The old man jumped up and hurried away, leaving NescaFrodo with his questions unanswered and his coffee-cup empty.

"Authors," he grumbled, tipping his cup and letting the last drop fall on his tongue. "They never give you a straight answer..."


	24. Chapter 24 Bilbean Writes the Songs

_O, for a donut so light and sweet! __  
__And a cup of coffee, what a treat! __  
__Elbereth, to thee I pray __  
__Make this Monday go away!_

**Lord of the Coffee; Fellowship of the Cup: ****  
****Bilbean Writes The Songs**

As NescaFrodo stood staring after the strange visitor, another shadow came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. NescaFrodo jumped in the air in surprise, then threw himself in a hug around his Uncle Bilbean's neck.

"Hullo, NescaFrodo my lad!" said Bilbean. "So you have got here at last! I hoped you would manage to bring me some good Shire coffeebeans... Rivendell Perk is a lovely place, but they serve tea, mostly. A body yearns for something with a bit more kick. Did you have any with you?"

NescaFrodo wasn't sure. "If we have any beans left, Sanka will know. Have you been here all this time? What have you been doing?"

"Why, sitting and thinking up songs, of course! I love a good tune, and Elves are the best for a good night of karaoke, but they are a little dry on lyrics. I was just working on a song, but I am stuck on a line. I need my friend the Dúnadude to help me with it. Have you seen him, Lord Elground?"

The tall Elf had been hanging around, enjoying the sight of the half-caff's reunion. "I shall see that he is found and brought to you at once. Before we end our merrymaking, we shall hear and judge your new song. I am getting tired of repeats of 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow'."

NescaFrodo drew his uncle to sit on a bench. "What happened when you left the Shire, Bilbean?"

"I got here without much adventure, my lad," the old half-caff said. "I had intended to go on to Baketown and see the dwarves again, my old friends Balinseed and Gloinchop, and the others. But once I got here, they opened a KrispyKreme, and I haven't been inclined to go anywhere for a while... I just love those raspberry jelly donuts!"

NescaFrodo smiled, "Yes, they are very good. Have you tried their tea-rings?"

A strange look overcame Bilbean's face when NescaFrodo said the word 'ring'. His hands began to shake and his eyes bulged. He began to tremble and sweat broke out on his brow. NescaFrodo took a step back, horrified, clutching the coffee-ring that hung around his neck beneath his tunic.

Gandgulp appeared swiftly, stepping between NescaFrodo and Bilbean. He took a slice of triple chocolate torte out of his pocket and stuffed it in the older half-caff's mouth. Bilbean munched on it happily, returning to slowly to normal.

Gandgulp took NescaFrodo slightly aside and whispered, "I forgot to tell you, don't mention the R-I-N-G to your uncle. He's still a little... reactive... to it's dastardly evil powers. Best not to mention it at all, or use that word in his presence." The Wizard winked at NescaFrodo and slipped away.

"What was I talking about?" Bilbean asked, wiping crumbs from his chin. The torte seemed to have restored him to how he had been before NescaFrodo had mentioned a ring.

NescaFrodo said cautiously, "You were telling me about your song..." 

Bilbean frowned. "I thought we were talking about donuts. Didn't you say something about tea-rings?"

NescaFrodo stared at him in wonder. "Gandgulp said not to mention it to you!"

"Mention what?" the old half-caff asked, perplexed.

"The word 'ring'!" Immediately, Bilbean began to shake and mutter again. Elground appeared instantly, stuffed a caramel cupcake in his mouth, then turned to NescaFrodo in exasperation.

"Didn't Gangulp tell you not to say that word again?"

"B--but, he said it first!" NescaFrodo gulped.

"Well, don't!" The Elf shook a long finger at the Coffee-Ring Bearer and frowned, his eyebrows arching right off of his forehead. "Just... _don't_!"

Bilbean was back to normal again, or as close to it as he could be. NescaFrodo resolved to say nothing more at all, but merely listened to his Uncle carry on about Rivendell Perk and all the pastries and different types of tea they offered.

Soon they noticed that there was a tall man watching them, standing in the shadows. Bilbean saw him first and said, "There you are, Dúnadude! I was looking for you!"

"Styroamer!" cried NescaFrodo, "you seem to have a lot of names!"

"You have no idea," muttered Bilbean quietly. "I need help with a song I am writing. Lord Elground wants to hear it before the night is over, and I am stuck on a couplet."

"Let's hear it, then, but if I help you, I want equal billing," the man said, and he and Bilbean went off into a corner to work on the song together.

NescaFrodo was left to himself for a while, for Sanka, who had come and set quietly beside his knee, had fallen asleep on the floor-- that or he had been finally overcome by a sugar-coma. NescaFrodo was alone and felt rather forlorn, although all about him the folk of Rivendell Perk were gathered, swinging blindly at piñatas and playing hopscotch. But those nearest him were silent, intent upon the music of the sound of a percolator bubbling nearby, and the scent of fresh-ground coffee that Sanka must have given over to be prepared made NescaFrodo's mouth water.

He dozed off waiting for the brew to be made, wandering in a dream of coffee and cream that turned into pouring liquid, ringing sweetly in a china cup, and then into a voice. It seemed to be the voice of Bilbean chanting verses. Faint at first and then clearer ran the words:

_Eärflandel was a baker-man __  
__that specialized in making flan. __  
__He made a vat of cheese fondue __  
__that tasted a lot like Elmer's glue. __  
__He was widely known for his chocy cake __  
__upon which the hardest teeth would break. __  
__Of his sweetbread all the Elves would talk; __  
__It tasted like a glazed breezeblock! ___

_To Valinor Eäflandel did float __  
__using a bread-loaf for a boat. __  
__Through many Adventures he wandered lost __  
__but he never forgot to his molars floss. __  
__And so in time he came to bow, __  
__before the Valar, a Caffemarill on his brow; __  
__For his wife did insist that his pride be masked __  
__And for directions he finally asked!_


	25. Chapter 25 The Council of Elground

**The Council of Elground In Rivendell Perk **

Elground, lord of the Edanish, stood before the gathering of folk, and he spoke:

"The coffee-ring! What shall we do with it, this pastry that Sour'on fancies? We cannot drink it, we cannot eat it! We cannot coat it in chocolate or even carob so that it will not stick in the throat and choke us. That is the purpose for which you are called hither. Called I say, though I have not called you to me; indeed, I tried to lock the door, but one of you brought an axe," and he bowed to Gemli, who was sharpening that same axe while eyeing Legolatté's braided blonde tresses, muttering, 'Yeah, he'd look good in a Mohawk, methinks.'

"I did not call, yet here you are, and so we who sit here and none other must now find counsel for the peril of the world."

"Whoa! Lighten-up, Elfdude!" spoke Boromocha. "You'd think the fate of the world rested on a little coffee-ring in the hands of a half-caff. I just came here to get the answer to a riddle." 

Boromocha stood and spoke out: "Give me leave to speak of Gondaroma, Master Elground! Say not that our beans are stale, or that our ground is poor. Those in the West are full of praise for our deeds, but offer only little plates of cookies when we come to tea! We are the Filter of the East! What freedom and peace your people enjoy is purchased with our coffee!

"But I did not come to Rivendell Perk to ask for tea and cake. The wisdom of Lord Elground is in beans, not confections. I have come to seek the unraveling of hard words. On the eve of our last fight, a dream came to my brother Faramocha; oft it came to him, until we cut back on his coffee-intake. And once, in a caffeine-haze it came to me, also:

The Eastern sky grew dark, but in the West a pale light lingered. I heard a voice, remote but clear, and it seemed to say:

_"Seek for the beans that were broken: __  
__In Imladrip it brews. __  
__There shall be counsels taken __  
__In caffeine-induced muse. __  
__There shall be shown a token __  
__That doom is on the land, __  
__For Isillydur's Bane shall waken __  
__And the half-caff forth shall stand." _

Boromocha continued his speech, "I also dreamed that I was going to school, but that I had forgotten all my clothes, and no one seemed to notice..."

"Enough!" announced Elground. "NescaFrodo, hold up the Coffee Ring, and then Boromocha will understand the weird dream he has had, and maybe go back to where he came from soon."

In a trembling hand, the half-caff raised the Coffee Ring before the eyes of the council.

In a dramatic voice, Gandgulp said, "Behold, Isillydur's Bane!" 

After taking a long pull out of his coffee-mug, which said on it in graceful elf-script: **_This Cup Of Coffee Just Saved Your Life_**, Lord Elground spoke again, " 'The fate of the world rests in the hands of a half-caff' So it does indeed, Boromocha." He turned quickly and withdrew a sliver of chalk from the sleeve of his robe, approached a large black board erected behind his raised chair, and made a mark next to his name. The score so far: Lord Elground1, everyone else0.

Boromocha's eyes glinted as he gazed at the Coffee Ring. "The Half-caff!" he muttered. "Is then the doom of Minas Teabag come at last? But why should we seek for broken beans?" He reached out and took the Coffee Ring from the half-caff, saying, "Hey, nice Coffee-Ring. Can I have it?"

"No!" NescaFrodo snatched it back from the big Man. "No more coffee for you, BoyScout number 2!"

Lord Elground turned and made a mark next to NescaFrodo's name, and then another next to his own. There was murmuring among the dwarves, and the elves smirked.

Aromagorn stood, and he looked at Boromocha with the condescending glare he had learned from Elground himself. "The words of the riddle were not the doom of Minas Teabag, but doom and great deeds are at hand. The Beans That Were Broken shall be brewed again! I carry these beans, and have treasured them as have all the heirs of Isillydur before me, and I am the last of that product-line. Now that you have found what you have sought, what would you ask? Do you wish for the House of Blendil to return to the Land of Gondaroma?"

Boromocha looked into his empty coffee cup and said, "Not really, but I could use a refill."

Elground shook his noble head, making a cutting-off gesture at his neck to the wait-staff, then turned and made three marks next to Aromagorn's name, then four more marks next to his own.

The Dwarven posse cleared their throats, and one stood and said angrily, "Lord Elground! Why do you make marks after your own name when you have scored no points? What kind of Greenway Scrabble game is this?"

Elground of Imladrip, Lord of the Edanish, looked at Gemli, son of Gloinchop, and said, "This is not Greenway Scrabble, but White Council Scrabble, and I make the rules! And also," he added, and his wise face was long and ageless and showed not a trace of his sarcasm, "I happen to be holding the chalk!" And he turned and gave himself two more scores, then added one to Gemli. The Dwarf rose and bowed.

Boromocha looked angrily about then turned to NescaFrodo, who was holding his angelic face stiffly, trying not to laugh.

"And what do you mean by 'BoyScout number 2'? I am the bloody son of the Steward of Gondaroma, I am! And I can handle my coffee!" 

Legolattté stood then, and retorted dryly, "Aye, but Aromagorn is the heir to the throne of Gondaroma, while you are merely the offspring of the hired help." Behind the proud back of Boromocha, the Prince of Smirkwood and the Heir of Isillydur exchanged a high-five. Elground noted five points for LtPoSmirkwood, one for Aromagorn, and three more for himself. Boromocha rolled his eyes.

Elground spoke then. "One of you must take this Coffee Ring to Mordonut and cast it into the Cup of Doom... sit **DOWN** Boromocha! Okay, one of you who is _not_ the son of the Steward of Gondaroma, must drink this bitter beverage. Any volunteers?"

One of the elves raised a shaking hand, and said in a sweet voice, "Lemme get this straight... we have to take a cursed Coffee Ring hundreds and hundreds of leagues across horc and gobbling-infested lands with little or no help from any mighty Elves or powerful Men, sneak into Sour'on's land through jungles of boobytraps and sleepless hairy eyeballs while everyone and their sheepdog is looking for us, climb an active and erupting volcano and drop the Coffee Ring into the boiling syrupy espresso in the mountain's core?"

Lord Elground regarded his manicure minutely and said, "Yes... that or appear for five consecutive nights in a row as co-host for Conan O'Brian."

"I will take the drink!" said Everyone, at the same time. A scuffle then broke out, started perhaps by Boromocha 'accidentally' wedging Aromagorn's scabbard in the trestle-table beam, causing his trousers to rip when he leapt to his feet. Legolatté and Gemli were arm-wrestling, and Gandgulp was draping his long grey robe over the _'Thank You For Not Smoking'_ sign, puffing happily on his pipe as he kept book on the bets the Elves and Dwarves were placing on the struggles.

None heard the small voice that spoke, barely above the riot of the crowd. 

"I will drink the coffee, but I do not like the flavour." NescaFrodo was ignored, for now Elground was busy smacking Boromocha over the head with a _mithril_ yardstick, and the Dwarves and Elves were placing bets on whether or not Gemli would be eating his beard or Legolatté wearing a hat through most of the adventure.

NescaFrodo sighed and placed the Coffee-Ring back around his neck and left quietly, unnoticed except for Sanka who was always a step behind him (or before him, if he happened to be walking backwards).

NescaFrodo turned and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Well, Sanka, this is it! The Adventure we have always wanted. I do not ask you to go with me!"

"You're not goin' anywhere without me, Mr. NescaFrodo!"

NescaFrodo squeezed his friend's arm, grateful for his undying loyalty and unfailing courage. "But, Sanka; I am going to Mordonut!" 

Sanka handed NescaFrodo a map and a compass, plus a half-eaten package of Elf-biscotti, and says, "Don't forget to take a left turn at Albuquerque!"

Grabbing Sanka affectionately around the neck, NescaFrodo volunteers his loyal and steadfast companion to accompany him on this deadly foray. Sanka shows his friendship and devotion by passing out in NescaFrodo's sleeper-hold.

And Elground chose him 7 other companions, all mighty warriors; a proud Elven Prince Legolatté, a mighty wizard Gandgulp, a stalwart Dwarven warrior Gemli, two doughty Men, both skillful and strong Aromagorn and Boromocha, and because the Elves were running short of food and patience, NescaFrodo's two cousins, MochaMerry and Drippin.

_And so the Adventure continues..._

Final Score of White Council Scrabble: Elground11, LtPoSmirkwood5, Aromagorn4, Gemli and NescaFrodo tied for last place with one point each


	26. Chapter 26 Javanna and Aulatté

**Lord of the Coffee; Java of the Ainur;**  
**Javanna and Aulatté Have A Domestic Squabble**

Now when Aulatté laboured in the brewing of the Dwarves he kept this work hidden from the other Valar; but at last he opened his mind to Javanna, who had opened the oven and commented upon the strange shortbread-cookies he had made, and why did he not clean up the kitchen?

He told her all that had come to pass. Then Javanna said to him, "Brewlúvatar is merciful. Now I see that thy heart rejoiceth, as indeed it may; for thou hast received not only forgiveness but your own brand of cookie as well. Yet because thou hiddest this thought from me until its achievement, thy children will have little love for the things of my love; the beans and the spices. They will love first the things of their own hands, as doth their father (gives Aulatté a very dirty look). They will delve in the cookiejar and the cocoa, and the things that are healthy and good for them they will not heed. Many a bean shall feel the bite of their grinders without pity." And Javanna pinched Aulatté wickedly on the arm.

But Aulatté answered: "That shall also be true of the Children of Brewlúvatar, for they will brew and they will bake. And though the things of thy realm have worth in themselves--OUCH! You vixen!-- and would have worth if no Children were to come, yet Brewlúvatar will give them dominion, and they shall use all that they find in the kitchen, and leave footprints in flour all over the linoeulum; though not without respect or without gratitude." And Aulatté poured a cup of clotted cream down Javanna's blouse.

Javanna was not appeased, and she kicked Aulatté in the seat of his trousers and she went to Manwëhous and asked him if it were all true.

Manwëhous was somewhat edgy today and he answered Javanna sharply. "Yes it is true. What's it to you?"

"All my beans are dear to me," she answered, spiking his coffee with extra saccharine when he was not looking. "Is it not enough that Maxwellcôr should have fudged so many of our workings? Shall nothing that I have devised be free from the dominion of others?"

"If thou hadst thy will what wouldst thou reserve?" asked Manwëhous, massaging the bridge of his nose and reaching for the aspirin. "Of all thy realm what beans dost thou hold dearest?"

"All have their worth," said Javanna, stamping her heel, "and each contributes to the worth of the others. But the ChiaTeatrees I hold most dear. Long in the growing, swift shall they be in the felling, and unless they pay toll with fruit or condiment little mourned in their passing. Would that the trees might speak on behalf of all things that bear beans, and punish those that grind them!"

Manwëhous struggled with the child-of-Brewlúvatar-proof cap on the aspirin vessel, saying, "This is a strange thought. What have you been imbibing, Javanna?" Manwëhous sat then silent, and pondered the words of Javanna. Then he said:

"Brewlúvatar has spoken, saying 'When the Children awake, then the thought of Javanna will awake also, and it will summon spices from afar, and they will dwell among the trees, and their sharpness shall be feared'.

But because I am King of Arda, and because Aulatté and you are getting your own namebrand products, I shall have my cake first. Before the Children awake there shall go forth with tough crusty bread the giant winged Bagels of the Lord of the West."

Javanna sniffed Manwëhaus's coffee cup to see if it contained brew of the grain instead of brew of the bean. "Whatever you say, boss! High shall the ChaiTeatrees grow, and the Bagels of the Lord of the West shall hang from their branches!"

But Manwëhous said, "Nay, only the trees of Aulatté shall be adequate for the Bagels, so that they are hot and toasty in the morning! But in the forests shall walk the Therments, Earthen Vessels of warm beverages."

Then Javanna returned to Aulatté, and he was in the kitchen, pouring molten whippedcreme onto a pieshell.

Javanna allowed her tongue to protrude from her mouth briefly. "Now let thy children beware! For there shall walk a power in the forest whose wrath they will arouse at their peril!"

"Nonetheless, they will have need of duck."

Javanna frowned, "Duck?"

Aulatté applied the creme-pie onto Javanna's countenance. "Yes, I said 'Duck'".


	27. Chapter 27 The Journey Southish

_Beware! This is an attempt at humour. Those of you who are humour -impaired or otherwise oblivious to satire, parody, jokes, japes, ribbing, giggling and otherwise having a good belly-laugh please stand behind the yellow safety line when reading this inkling. ___

_Plastic monitor protectors should be employed by those drinking beverages. Thank You._

**The Journey South-ish**

Though the Nine Companions walked and walked until they were weary, they seemed to be getting nowhere. So they got off of the treadmill and caught a ride as far as the land of Hollandaise. Drippin, who had hitherto aforetimes proved himself virtually useless, redeemed himself now by demonstrating a penchant for hitchhiking.

Thus they traveled swiftly through the wild lands to Cafolger's Mountain, where they would attempt a crossing at the Redneck Gate. As they passed a sign with nine black diamonds and two skull-and-crossbone icons on it, Gandgulp produced a banjo from beneath his flowing grey robes. As he strapped it on, he cautioned the rest of the Fellowship not to make eye-contact with anybody they might meet wearing overalls and dipping tobacco.

It began to snow as they climbed the pass. The Companions had fun laying in drifts and making snow-fäeries, except for Legolatté, who could not seem to leave any imprint on the snow. Gemli tried to be helpful by jumping on the elf's stomach, but for some reason this was not fully appreciated.

Finally they had to admit defeat. The were so cold that Sanka had to break the ice on the top of NescaFrodo's thermos to pour him a cup of joe, and the milk had evaporated and all the coffeebeans were frozen too hard to grind. As they turned back, they found the going even more difficult, for now they had to dodge kamikaze skiers and suicidal snow-boarders.

Finally, they reached the foothills and held a council. "The Redneck Gate in unpassable! Cafolgers Mountain has defeated us! We must now take the southward road to the Gap of Yuban or return to Imladrip, there to await the end."

Drippin's face lit up visibly at the mere mention of returning to Rivendell Perk. Sanka checked the younger half-caff's hunting socks for a short-circuit.

"But how can we go back without shame?" asked NescaFrodo. "We did not pay our bill when we left."

But Gandgulp spoke again, "There is another way we may attempt, a dark way, a dangerous way, more fearsome than the freezing snows and marginally more difficult than finding a parking space at Walmart on December 24."

"What is this way of which you speak?" said MochaMerry. "You had better tell us straight away, without the sugar-coating, please.

"I speak of Moreeka, Café-Doom. The doorway is around here somewhere... yes, on the other side of that seething lake of black coffee. Follow me!"

They found the door and waited as the wizard pondered the necessity of a good dramatic pause. With great showmanship, he uttered the magic words that opened the doors to Cafe-Doom (the elven scrollwork runes read):

**"Café hours: Moonday through Valarsday 6am to 5pm ****  
****Starday and Sunday 7am to 4pm"**

As they turned to walk into the pitchblack gloom of the great cafe of the Dwarves, a oily snaky tentacle writhed out of the murky coffee and wrapped around NescaFrodo's ankle.

"Ai! Help! My personal space bubble is being invaded!" shrieked the desperate half-caff, as hoards of screaming, giggling, fainting fans emerged to cover him with smooches and beg for autographs. Legolatté was like-wise assaulted and the others, also, until Gandgulp pointed toward the distance and cried in a loud voice, "Look! It's Johhny Depp and Keänau Reeves! Sunbathing in leather thongs!" 

Poor NescaFrodo and Legolatté were then abandoned by the fickle fans, and their companions pulled them into the safety of the dark, gloomy dungeon of Café-Doom...

….._uh, did I say "safety"? ___

_Mwwwhahahahahaha!_


	28. Chapter 28 Journey Through DarkRoast

_Apologies in advance to all Ringer lawyers and hot-headed _

_actors who might be offended by the following parody._

**Lord of the Coffee; Fellowship of the Cup ****  
****Café-Doom, Journey in the DarkRoast**

NescaFrodo stood in the utter darkness of Café-Doom, and wondered why he had chosen to come this way. Surely being frozen to death on the powdered sugar glaciers of Cafolger's Mountain was better than standing in this endless queue. It was worse than Starbrandybuck's mid-morning rushhour!

Behind him, the Dwarf Gemli was humming happily to himself. This was the ancestral coffeeshop of his folk, and he was mighty pleased to be there, even if they were sold out of double espresso cheesecake. "Chin up, NescaFrodo," he said jauntily, as after only 30 minutes the line crept forward 1/4 inch, "I will sing you a song I learned while sitting on my mother's beard. It may help to pass the time. This is the song of Brewin, the Father of the Dwarves: 

_The Day was young, the tea was green __  
__No stain on tablecloth was seen __  
__No cinnamon rolls or butter'd scones __  
__In Brewin's kitchen yet were known ___

_He made the fruitcake no one eats __  
__And invented lots of other treats __  
__He made a great tureen of coffee __  
__With rolls of almond bark and toffee ___

_Then he set aside his work __  
__To sit with Dwarves and drink blackperk ___

_In Café-Doom he made his shoppe __  
__And Elves and Dwarves would always stop __  
__To drink his brew and eat his éclairs __  
__But word got round to Maxwellcôr's ears ___

_He sent a hoard of Urk-shoppers __  
__Who bought up all the rolls and poppers __  
__And spilled his coffee on the ground __  
__And brought the property values down ___

_Now Brewin' lies in restless sleep __  
__'Til he can get even with that Dark Creep __  
__And Brewin's folk plan their vengeance bold __  
__"A recipe that is best served cold!"_

And so the Dwarf ended his song, and the melodic booming of his voice faded slowly, echoing through the long cavernous tea-room.

"Um, that was lovely, Gemli... Thanks! You, uh... don't happen to have your axe handy, do you?" asked NescaFrodo nervously, as he watched the long line of orcs, trolls, gobblings, lawyers, cattle-rustlers, gothpunks, javajunkies, barrow-wights, day-trippers, unemployed actors, and Sean Penn standing ahead of them turn and begin to mutter angrily.

Gemli whipped out his axe, and leaping on top of the espresso bar he exclaimed, "Let them come! There is one Dwarf in Cafe-Doom that still drinks coffee!"

A great melee ensued, and the Fellowship of the Cup fought valiantly, none more so than the Dwarf, who sang as he spilled the brew and scattered the beans of the foe, "Heigh ho! Heigh ho! It's off with your head I go..."

Nearby, Legolatté was delicately slicing horcs with his two bone-handled French-chef knives, and even as he did so, he watched with bemusement as the Dwarf, whom he had hitherto found utterly contemptible, minced the orcs and gothpunks with skill creditable to an Eldar. His dislike for the Stunted One fell away and he joined Gemli, fighting back to back with the violently happy Dwarf. 

NescaFrodo was trapped in an alcove, cornered by a great Crave Troll who was attempting to impale the hapless half-caff with a stale brioche. Luckily, Aromagorn was nearby, and persuaded the foul creature to desist, giving him 5 bucks and directions to the nearest Internet Cafe, to participate in a 'live chat' with Richard Taylor.

At last, they fled the chamber of Brewin', dragging Gemli along behind, who would have preferred to remain and miser-cord the semi-conscious lawyers. "It is better to get rid of them now, don't you see that?" he howled as they hustled him away. "They will breed in the darkness of Café-Doom, and before you know it, we will be up to our ears in litigation!"

_But alas! The words of the Dwarf were unheeded, and so the Fellowship sped toward the exit, unaware of the foul clotted shadow that lurked, waiting for them in evil delight._


	29. Chapter 29 A Bridge Too Farce

**A Bridge Too Farce**

_I say to you, if you go to Moreeka, beware! There be a monstrous parody here!_

The Fellowship of the Cup is running away, trying to get across the Bridge of Kaffé-doom to escape the terror of the darkness of Moreeka. They hurry through the dangerous and crowded café, threatened constantly by horc and gobblings, and bored children wielding sharpened crayons and popular movie-merchandise toys (choking hazard: ask for alternate toy for ages under three).

"Look ahead," called Gandgulp, "The bridge is near. It is dangerous and narrow. Run straight across and no base-jumping! Fly!" 

"If I could fly," muttered Legolatté to Gemli, "I wouldn't need the bungee-cord!"

Suddenly NescaFrodo saw before him a black chasm. At the end of the hall the floor vanished and fell to an unknown depth. The exit door could only be reached by a slender bridge of stone, without kerb or rail, clearly in violation of Elvish safety regulations, that spanned the chasm with one curving spring of fifty feet. They could only pass across it in single file. Gandgulp halted at the brink and the others came up in a pack behind.

"Who crosses first?" asked NescaFrodo, ducking a McKing Burger Alien Pirate Transformer thrown by a junior horc-imp who was dissatisfied with his 'unhappy meal'.

"Age goeth before beauty," said Gandgulp, shoving Legolatté behind him.

"Height goeth before hair," said the Elf, pushing Gemli back.

"Girth goeth before majesty," said the Dwarf, stepping before Aromagorn.

"Stealth goeth before strength," quipped the Ranger, cutting off Boromocha.

"Pride goeth before a fall," quoth Boromocha, and he picked up the half-caffs one by one and tossed them across the chasm like little screaming footballs.

There was a deafening roar behind them, and the noises sounded again in the deep, Chugga chugga! Shhhhhhhhh! Shhhhhhhhh! Like an espresso machine from the very café of Danté. Everyone turned around and stared at the vision of horror that had arose behind them.

"Ai! A foulgrog! A foulgrog has come!" cried Legolatté, zipping past Gandgulp and tearing across the bridge, with Gemli, Aromagorn, and Boromocha on his heels.

Gandgulp crossed after them, and remained bravely in the center of the bridge, brandishing his staff and speaking boldly, "You cannot pass! I am a servant of the Secret Beans, wielder of the sword Glamdrink! You cannot pass!"

The foulgrog reached the bridge. What it was could not at first be seen: it was like a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form, of man-shape maybe, yet greater; and a power and terror seemed to go with it and before it.

"Whadd'r you kids doin' playin' here?" it growled, hitching its sagging trousers up only for its heavy utility belt to drag them down again. It was clad in a brown uniform, and there was a tarnished badge on its chest. "Can'tcha read the sign? 'No Loitering' it says! Get outta here a'fore I call yer folks! I know yer dad!"

"Is it the Parody Police?" asked NescaFrodo, trembling in terror. 

"No, just an Insecurity Guard," said Aromagorn. "I have dealt with their kind before. They are full of their own authority and a lot of donuts. Gandgulp shall withstand him," he added confidently, as he edged toward the exit, dragging the half-caffs with him.

Gandgulp remained on the bridge, waving his staff and sword, hoping the foulgrog would retreat to its den and resume eating cold pizza and watching re-runs of Matlock. "You cannot pass! The nightstick of Udûng will not avail you, rent-a-cop! You cannot pass!" 

The foulgrog made no answer. It stepped forward slowly onto the bridge, and suddenly it drew itself up to a great height, and its cubby backside spread from wall to wall. "Don't make me say it again, shorty! Scram, or I'll use the pepper spray!"

The narrow bridge suddenly buckled under the vast monstrosity, collapsing under the weight of its ego alone. Gandgulp scrambled vainly for the edge of the chasm, but he slipped and fell into the abyss with the foulgrog, which was waving its plastic handcuffs and complaining about its loss of benefits. There came a last message from the wizard as he disappeared into the darkness, barely heard.

"What was that he said?" asked NescaFrodo, dashing the tears from his eyes; he was sure they'd never see their wise and brave companion again. "Did he say 'Fly, you fools?' "

"No," answered Legolatté, "he said, 'I wish I could fly'. Let us leave this place! We cannot help him now! Run this way!" 

"If I could run that way, I wouldn't need the talcum power," retorted Gemli.

They ran for the exit, clearly marked with a red neon sign, stumbling wildly up the stairs toward the door. Aromagorn was leading them, Boromocha in the rear. NescaFrodo heard Sanka weeping beside him, and he found that he, too, was rather upset that Gandgulp had been taken from them. What foul luck! Chugga chugga! Shhhhh! Shhhhhh! Went the steam-jet behind them, scorching Boromocha's heels with scalding milk.

They ran on, heedless of the toll-trolls waiting beside the exit for payment for using the bridge. The company swept past them, and Aromagorn flashed his public service ID at them as they ran past, out into the sunlight and away from the clotted darkness and despair. They had escaped.

They did not halt until they were far away from the doors. Grief overcame them at last, there were some tears and some choice language that cannot be posted, and everyone felt really bad until they realized that Gandgulp was listed for film-credits on the next two pictures. 

"Mayhap they are but flashbacks," muttered Boromocha, looking back toward the Black Café darkly.

MochaMerry laughed and said, "No way! That would mean that any of us could die at... any... moment... uh, oh!" he glanced at his highly expendable cousin and gulped.

Suddenly NescaFrodo begins to slap at his pockets. "OH NO!" he wailed, "The Coffee Ring! I loaned it to Gandgulp just before he fell into the abyss!"

The Fellowship exclaimed in dismay, but NescaFrodo chuckled and held up the Coffee Ring, saying,_ "Psych!"_ The Fellowship let out its collective breath and glared at NescaFrodo.

"Worry not about Gandgulp," said Aromagorn. "We must go on! He would want us to, so that the coffee he spilled should not be wasted! Yonder lies the Golden Road of Loriandadanish! There we will find sanctuary and strudel! Come quickly!"

Boromocha did not move. "Is there no other way?" he asked.

"Just follow the Gold-cobbled Path!" said Aromagorn. "What fairer way would you desire?"

"A plain road, though it led through a hedge of hogs! It is said in the land of my people that the Gold-cobbled Path to Loriandadanish if fraught with peril. I don't know what 'fraught' means, but the 'peril' part suggests that it is not a good thing!"

"There is no evil in the land of Loriandadanish. One should only fear gaining a few pounds, drinking its sugary streams and sampling endless cherry cheesecake ice-cream. Trust me."

"Lead on, then, or lead back! Men of Monodrama do not fear cheesecake! We desire only the freedom to drink coffee, and eat breakfast food at dinnertime! I cannot stomach pancakes in the morning!"

"Me neither," said Aromagorn, "but first, our Coffee-Bearer seems to have fallen behind! Hail, NescaFrodo, are you hurt?" 

NescaFrodo looked at him blankly. "No, I'm just fine," he said. Aromagorn turned him around and found an arrow with a rubber tip stuck to his back. The Ranger pulled it off with a **smock** and frisked the half-caff for other wounds.

NescaFrodo seemed reluctant to have his garments touched. He slapped Aromagorn's hands away, saying, "I'm fine, I said! I am just tired from running! I just need a cup of coffee and some rest!"

"No, NescaFrodo, we must see what damage has been done. Strip him," he said to the other half-caffs, who then mugged NescaFrodo and left him standing in his _mithril_ longjohns that had been a parting gift from his uncle Bilbean.

"No wonder you weren't cold when we climbed the mountain!" said Drippin and MochaMerry. "No fair!" Everyone laughed.

"Do you mind?" asked NescaFrodo frostily, snatching back his clothes and getting dressed, his fair cheeks reddened with embarrassment. (_mithril_ was nice, but nobody enjoys standing in their drop-bottom drawers in front of a crowd of their peers, peering at him)

Suddenly a strange Elf dropped out of a tree and landed in front of the Fellowship. "_Daro Kline Calvÿne!_ (nice under-roos, mate!)" he said, bowing gracefully. "Welcome to Loriandadanish! You haven't seen a dark-haired wench with a little grey cat, an aluminum lumberjack, a sawdust-filled straw golem, and a timid were-cat, have you?"

Aromagorn shook his head, "Sorry, Charlie; wrong parody! We're the Fellowship of the Cup. Reservations for nine, less one."


	30. Chapter 30 Coffee With Haldir

**Coffee With Haldir**

When NescaFrodo came at last up onto the flet, he found Legolatté seated with three other Elves, drinking coffee. They stood up, and one of them uncovered a small silver cylinder, that gave out a jet of steam, and a slight aroma of beans. They poured him a cup of coffee, and spoke words of welcome in the Elven-tongue. NescaFrodo spoke haltingly in return, then burned his tongue on the coffee. 

"Careful! The brew is hot!" cautioned the Elves. "We seldom serve coffee, for we dwell now in the heart of the forest, and do not willingly have dealings with any other folk. But it is bloody cold on this flet, and we have hang-overs. I am Haldiroast, and these are my brothers Rumílstone and Oräffeine. They have no speaking lines in this story." Rumílstone and Oräffeine gave their brother dirty looks, but remained silent.

"We have smelled the aroma of your brewing, and messengers from Elground have passed by Loriándadanish on their way home. We had not heard of half-caffs for many a long year, and did not know that they still drank coffee. I see that it does stunt the height and encourage the growth of excessive hair! I thought that that was an old Entwife's tail!" He dumps his cup of coffee over the edge of the flet. A shout of pain comes from below, followed by cursing in Khuzdul.

"A Dwarf!" said Haldiroast. "That is not well! We have not had dealings with the Dwarves since the Days of Dark Roast. They are not permitted in our land. We cannot allow him to pass. They do not use coasters, and leave cup-rings on the furniture!"

At the talk of rings, NescaFrodo stirred uneasily and clutched the coffee-ring that hung round his neck beneath his tunic. "But he is trusty and true," he said, "And Elground himself chose him to be my companion. Also, he makes the best cinnamon rolls you have ever tasted!"

"Very good! Then he shall be permitted to pass within, but he must go blindfold through Loriándadanish. But you are all weary now, and tonight you will stay with us in the flets and rest before going on tomorrow. We Elves will keep watch."

NescaFrodo bowed and thanked his hosts many times. "But will you not rest also? Surely you are tired from patrolling the borders of Loriándadanish?"

Haldiroast, Rumílstone, Oräffeine, and Legolatté laughed. "Sleep? Elves do not NEED sleep!" They refilled their cups with fresh coffee and began to play cards.

NescaFrodo lay awake for some times after all his companions were asleep. Sanka was snoring lustily beside him, and NescaFrodo dug an elbow into his ribs to silence him. The forest was very quiet. The Elves were sitting with their arms wrapped about their knees, shaking violently from the caffeine, speaking in whispers. At last, lulled by the wind and the soft perking of the coffee-pot, NescaFrodo dropped into a troubled sleep.

Late in the night he woke. Everyone was asleep, and the Elves were gone. The wind was still. A little way off he heard a harsh laugh and the clink of coffee-mugs. The sounds died slowly away.

A head appeared suddenly through the hole in the flet. NescaFrodo clutched his chest in alarm, and said the grinning Elf, "Don't **DO** that!"

Haldiroast chuckled. Then he said, "Did you see it? There was something in this tree that I have never seen before. It ran away when the gobblings passed below. They crossed the Nimrodeli- **_curse_** their foul feet in its creamy water!- and went on down the old road beside the river, where the IHOP is. Three could not challenge a hundred, so we went ahead and left a trail of beans for them to follow. We must go as soon as it is light."

The company prepared to leave, after the morning coffee had been consumed. They said goodbye to the river Nimrodeli, and it seemed to NescaFrodo that he would never hear again a running stream of cream so beautiful, for ever blending its innumerable coffees in an endless course of beverage choices.

They went back to the path, and saw signs of the passage of the gobblings; crushed paper cups discarded upon the road, half-chewed coffeebeans scattered about, swizzle-sticks tied into knots. The crossed another stream, then Haldiroast turned to them and said, "As was agreed, I shall here blindfold the eyes of the Dwarf."

This was not to the liking of Gemli. "The agreement was made without my consent. I will not walk blindfold, smelling the coffee that others drink!"

"Toss him in the river," said Haldiroast. The brothers picked up the Dwarf and swung him toward the brown waters. "Okay! Okay! Blindfold it is!" cried Gemli.

He grumbled as they bound his eyes. "May your coffee- stains never rinse out!" he muttered.

Aromagorn said, "It is hard for the Dwarf to be thus singled out. We will all be blindfold, even Legolatté"

"Me, too!" cried Rumílstone and Oräffeine. "I'm not letting you guys have all the fun!" said Haldiroast, and they blindfolded all of the company, and then themselves, and promptly got lost in the forest of Loriándadanish.

Legolatté peeked out from under his cheesecloth blindfold. "Alas for the folly of these days! Here all are enemies of the one Enemy, and yet I must walk blind, while the sun is merry and the coffee is brewing under leaves of gold!"

"Folly it may seem," said Haldiroast, passing Legolatté a thermos. His blindfold was pushed up to his platinum hairline like a sweatband. "Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Coffee more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who would drink coffee with cream and sugar. We live now upon an danish sinking in a sea of espresso, and our hands are more often upon the dental hygiene device than upon our coffeemugs." 

MochaMerry had been listening to their talk. "In our land, there is a substance known as _'kouphymayt'_ that sweetens and lightens the coffee. It is farmed west of my land, the Shire, where half-caffs live," he said, then ran into a tree.

"Happy folk are half-caffs that dwell near the Cream!" said Haldiroast. "Some there are among us that sing that the Dark Coffee will be sweetened, and that pastry will come again. Yet I do not believe that. My coffee-mug is half empty, not half full! Alas for Loriándadanish that I love! It would be a poor life in a land were no cappuccino trees grow!"

They blundered blindly through the forest, finding their way to the Café of Green Tea by the smell of the percolating coffee.


	31. Chapter 31 Mountain Troll Coffee

**Mountain Troll Coffee**  
_in homage to 'The Troll Song' from JRR Tolkien's Lord of the Rings (with apologies)_

Troll sat alone, drinking Mountain Grown  
And he munched and crumbled a dry old scone  
For time unknown he'd dined alone  
For of his coffeebeans was he greedy  
_Seedy! Beady!_  
Beans hid in his lair he would not share  
And so he was alone and needy.

Then up came Tom, with a portable Braun,  
Said he to Troll, "Pray, What's going on?  
Can you spare a bean for a quick tureen  
And we'll have a cup or two between us?"  
_Wean us! Seen us!  
_"A cup of Chai would open my eye  
Let's share out a cup between us."

So answered Troll, "Think you can cajole  
The golden beans from my hide-e-hole?'  
Begone, thou lout! You'll do without!  
I'll not share my joe with thee now!"  
_Hee now! See now!_  
"Not for gold or jewels or miner's tools  
Will I share my beans to thee now!"

Said Tom, "I don't see why the likes of thee  
Shouldn't make more free with his coffee.  
I am, after all, not especially tall  
And I won't eat all of your toffee."  
_Joffee! Boffee!_  
"You'll sooner be free of my company  
If you give me a cup of coffee."

So, reluctantly, from behind a tree,  
Troll produced coffee beans three.  
In a blink they were brewed, and the general mood  
Upon the mountain was most cheerful.  
_Not fear-full! Or tear-full!  
_A jolly cup the two did sup  
And the singing was most cheerful!

"This brew," Tom dared, as his cup he reared,  
"is the strongest joe I have ever shared!  
If I should happen to spill some on this hill  
I am sure that hair would grow there!"  
_Hoe there! Mow there!  
_"It'd would grow a mushache upon a lass,  
So stout is this coffee here!"

"My good Man," said Troll as he drained his bowl  
And offered his new friend a cinnamon roll,  
"How correct you are! Tho' black as tar  
My coffee is delicious!"  
_Nutrious! Judicious!  
_"Magically, it's properties  
Are a secret equally delicious!"

"You would do well if you were to tell  
This secret now, for it would sell  
Hot as lava, your 'Troll-brewed Java'  
I can envision the gold we'd earn so!"  
_Learn so! Burn so!_  
"Just whisper here inside my ear  
And to the bank we'll both go!"

But our stout Troll was no trusting soul  
And no words of Tom's could extoll  
From that stubborn beast the very least  
Of info on Troll Coffee.  
_Waffie! Quaffie!  
_"A secret spoken is a secret broken.  
I'll say no more to thee!"

So from now til The End, we'll find two friends  
Sitting on a mountain drinking Blends  
Sharing their mood and whatever food  
That Tom has thought to bring up.  
_Fling up! Sing up!  
_You can come, too, if you like the brew  
Just remember to bring your own cup!


	32. Chapter 32 Queen of the Cupcakes

**The Queen of Cupcakes**

And so the Fellowship arrived in the Cafe of Green Tea and were brought before Godivariel Queen of Chocolate, and her husband Celebraun. They were welcomed with fitting words, then Celebraun spoke.

"Eight there are here, but nine there were set out from Imladrip. So it says on your reservations. Where is Gandgulp? For I much desire to speak with him, as he owes me 10 golden mallorn leaves on the last Redsox vs. Whitesox game."

"Gandgulp the Grey did not pass the borders of this land," said the Lady Godivariel mystically, hiding a book in her long white skirts that bore the title _'Amaze and Confound You Friends With Ventriloquism'_.

Aromagorn hung his head and spoke, "Alas! Gandgulp remained in Murkeeka and did not escape. He fell closed in combat with the dread Foulgrog!"

"Ai," cried Legolatté, going for the Oscar, "It is the creature that haunts the dreams of the Elves, of all the bean-rots it is the worst!"

"I saw Brewin's Bane!" said Gemli dramatically, not to be out-done by the Elf.

Lady Godivariel came forth, and she took them by their left hands and carefully scrutinized each of their palms. To MochaMerry she said, "Sharpen you sword," and to Drippin she said, "Keep your hands to yourself". She looked at Legolatté's palm and said, "Moisturizer". Boromocha was advised to not buy any long-term life insurance policies, Aromagorn to seek a better agent, and when she came to Gemli, she stopped and stared at him.

Instead of examining his palm, she ran her fingers through his thick beard and cooed, "Ooooo! A Dwarf!" She sat on his lap and took off his helmet, playing with his mass of reddish-gold hair. "I just love facial hair!" she said, batting her long lashes at him.

Gemli turned very red, but Celebraun was too busy to notice, examining the Fellowship's visas.

Haldiroast furrowed his sketchy eyebrows and leaned toward Legolatté to murmur quietly, "Now you see why we don't allow Dwarves in here!"

Sanka tugged on the Lady's long white dress. "'Scuse me, ma'am, what about Mr. NescaFrodo and me?"

"Come and see me later," she purred, happily braiding the Dwarf's long beard. "We'll have some tea."


	33. Chapter 33 The Basin of Godivariel

_Author's Note:  
__See if you can find the hidden Taoist message in this chapter  
__all respect to Mr. Lao-tse_

**The Basin of Godivariel **

One evening NescaFrodo and Sanka were strolling through the sugar-cane bushes and cocoa-plants of Lóriandadainish. They both felt restless, or perhaps it was the sugar that makes them jumpy.

Both half-caffs were rather tired, for they had spent the day running and hiding in the forest, trying to lose Boromocha and Sméagolatté who had been following them like puppies. At last they seemed to have given them the slip.

"What do you think of Elves, Sanka, now that you have met more of them?" asked NescaFrodo, walking off his jitters.

"They're kinda sticky, aren't they?" answered Sanka. "And their coffee is too weak. But that Lady, she is the sweetest of all. I bet she can brew a proper cup of java, that one!"

Even as he spoke, they saw, as if she came in answer to their words, the Lady Godivariel approaching. Tall and fair, she walked beneath the trees, clad in a white apron. She beckoned to them, but spoke no word. She was eating chocolate.

She brought them to a hollow place in the land, shaped like the center of a great donut. A basin stood there, steaming and rich, a vast bowl of hot fudge. She stirred it with a silver ladle.

NescaFrodo gazed at the surface of the tureen of molten chocolate, mesmerized. He reached out a trembling hand to the creamy pool.

"Do not touch the chocolate!" The Lady whacked his hand gently with the ladle. She gestured that they should take seats at a small table nearby, where sat a delicate-looking tea set and a plate of fortune cookies.

"Drink your Tea," she said dramatically, light flying from her hair and fingertips. She smoothed her fly-a-ways back with an impatient hand. "Darn static electricity," they heard her grumble.

The cups were full of a suspicious-looking clear liquid. NescaFrodo and Sanka sipped them cautiously. NescaFrodo spat his upon the ground.

"Your tea tastes like vinegar!" he grimaced at the bitter flavour.

"And what does yours taste like, Sanka?" the Lady asked calmly.

Sanka took another sip, and licked his lips. "Tastes just like vinegar, m'lady. Just the way vinegar should." The Lady smiled at him. She took their cups and rinsed them, then filled them with steaming chocolate from the basin. They drank their chocolate quietly, and when they finished, she asked them to overturn their cups upon the saucers.

She peered at the little plates for long minutes, muttering and shaking her head. At last, she spoke, "Many things I can command the chocolate to reveal, and to some I can show what they desire to see. But the chocolate will also reveal things unbidden, and those are often less rich or palatable than those things we wish to see, but more profitable. What do you see?"

The half-caffs bent over their saucers. NescaFrodo saw on his tiny plate a great mountain, and a long road, and long nights listening to two rivals bickering endlessly so that he could not sleep. He sighed sadly, knowing that this was his fate.

Sanka stared at the smudged saucers, then he picked his up and licked it clean. "Mmmmm! Good chocolate!"

The Lady regarded them fondly, and she removed their cups and saucers and bid them good-night. When they reached for their fortune cookies, she smiled sadly.

Sanka cracked his open and read slowly, "_When you get to the end of Life's Rope, tie a knot and hang on_."

NescaFrodo opened his cookie, and a small silver ring fell out. He held it up and looked at it curiously. "What is this?"

Godivariel exclaimed happily. "My ring! I was wondering where that went! I really ought to take them off when I am baking."

NescaFrodo held out the ring in his small hand, saying, "You are wise and sugary and fair, Lady. I will give you the ring, if you ask for it."

The Lady laughed. "Keep it, dear. I have _dozens_. Lord Celebraun has one made for me every year for our anniversary. Have you any idea how _many_ I have piled up?" She chuckled.

"Then take this one, my Lady," he said, and he held out to her the Coffee-Ring, and she stood in shock.

"Sweet the lady Godivariel may be, yet here she has met her match. I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer. And you would give it to me freely, and instead of a Lord of Dark Coffee, you would brew up a Queen of Tea, and I shall not be bitter, but light and sweet as the wind and the honey! Smoother than the cream of the crop! More stimulating than a vigorous foot massage!"

She had grown tall and beautiful, and NescaFrodo and Sanka trembled to behold her. She turned then and she was shrunken; a simple elf-woman smudged with fudge. "I pass the test. I will crystallize and go bake cookies, and remain Godivariel."

"But how will I get rid of this coffee-ring?" asked NescaFrodo sadly.

"Have you tried E-bay?"


	34. Chapter 34 One For the Road

**Farewell to Lórien **

_Please note that this is a professional parody. Please do not attempt to do this at home!_

**One For The Road**

After the Companions of the Cup had eaten and drank some coffee while sitting upon the grass, Celebraun spoke to them again of their journey.

"As you go down the river, you will find water in great amounts, always lying between the banks on either side. Try to keep your boats in the water. They go much faster that way."

The Companions glanced around and then nodded solemnly when they saw Godivariel point toward one of her temples with a finger, making a circular motion. Celebraun did not note her, but continued his speech.

"There beyond the fair lawns of Perk Galen ye will find the Waterslide of Rauros. Brave not the white waters! On the further side are the bleak hills of the Emyn Muumuu. The wind blows from the East there, for they look out over the Dregs Marshes and the Noman-lands to Girth Górger and the Entrance to the Black Café of Mordonut.

"Boromocha and any that go with him seeking Minas Teabag, will do well to leave the river above the Waterslide and descend the Stairs north of Perk Galen. Do not risk becoming entangled in the Forest of Crémehorn. It is a strange land, and is now little known. But Boromocha and Aromagorn doubtless do not need this warning, since they are such know-it-all hotshots."

Now Godivariel rose from the grass, and taking a cup from one of her maidens she filled it with coffee and sugar and cream and gave it to Celebraun.

"Now it is time to drink the coffee of farewell," she said. "Drink, and let not your heart be sad, nor forget thou to take thy meds. Night must follow noon, and already our evening draweth nigh." She brought the cup to each of the Companions then, and bade them drink and farewell. Then she commanded them to sit down on the grass again.

"Wish they'd make up their Elvish minds," grumbled Gemli. Legolatté frowned at him and elbowed him in the ribs.

"We have drunk the Cup of Parting," Godivariel intoned, "and the shadows fall between us. But before you go, I have brought in my ship gifts which the Lord and Lady of Lóriandadánish now offer you in memory of our fair land." Then she called each of them to her in turn.

"Here is the gift from Celebraun and Godivariel to the leader of your company," and she handed Aromagorn a Haldiroast's At-Home-on-the-Range hygiene and grooming kit. "Whenst thou becometh king at last, thy beard will finally grow in. Rule well and look royal."

She turned then to Boromocha, and to him she gave a belt of good scotch whiskey; to MochaMerry and Drippin she gave small silver bells, on strings to wear around their necks, should they get lost.. To Legolatté she gave a bow such as the _Godivarim_ wear in their hair, which matched his outfit as if it had been made for him alone. With it went a pair of combs.

"For your little waiter and lover of spices," she said to Sanka, "I have only a small gift." She put into his hand a little shaker of seasoning. It was in a beautifully carved bottle with a single G rune in silver. "The G stands for Godivariel," she said, "but also it may stand for Garlic in your tongue. It will not keep you on your road, nor defend you against any peril, except maybe vampires; but if you keep and see your kitchen again, then perhaps it may reward you. Use it sparingly; it is the good stuff."

Sanka went red to his ears and muttered something inaudible, as he clutched the box and bowed as well as he could.

"And what gift would a Dwarf ask of the Elves?" said Godivariel, turning to Gemli. She smiled at him and winked.

Gemli cleared his throat as Celebraun frowned at him. "None, Lady," he answered. "It is enough for me to have seen the Lady of Lóriandadánish, and to have tasted her cooking." Godivariel smiled upon him and tucked a piece of paper with her email address on it into his pocket.

The Elves stirred and murmured with astonishment, and Celebraun glanced heavenward and muttered something inaudible.

"And you, Coffee Ring-bearer," Godivariel said, turning to NescaFrodo, "I come to you last who are not last in my thoughts. For you, I have prepared this." She held up a fine coffee cup, wrought of _mithril_ and crystal and cunningly inscripted:

_Say Not That The Cup Is Half Empty...  
__Say Rather That The Cup Is Twice As Big As It Needs To Be._

May it serve you well, and keep your coffee hot when all other containers are cold. Remember Godivariel and her fondue basin!"

NescaFrodo took the cup, and for a moment as it shone between them, he saw her again standing like a queen, great and beautiful, but this time not smeared with chocolate. He bowed, finding no words to say.

They rose at last and took to the boats, settling into the teacup-shaped cockles with their paddles like long-handled spoons. The Elves pushed them out in to the stream, crying farewell. The Lady Godivariel stood on the very tip of the Tongue, and she raised her hands in farewell, her rings shining brightly in the sunlight. The Companions heard her voice raised in the following hymn:

**_Ah! Like dice fall the cubes into the Drink _****_  
_****_Sugar in squares, like little boxes of heaven _****_  
_****_The Creme is passed with swift hands around the table _****_  
_****_Beneath the drafty flet, during the _****_  
_****_Long Dark Tea-time of the Soul _******

**_Who now shall brew the coffee for me? _******

**_For Vardecaf, Queen of Coffee, has up-lifted her hands _****_  
_****_And the paths are flooded with Kalúha _****_  
_****_And out of an Earl Grey country, cocoa lies foaming on the waves between us _****_  
_****_And steam issues from the teapot for ever. _****_  
_****_Now lost, lost is the recipe for Snickerdoodles! _******

**_Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find crepés. _****_  
_****_Maybe even thou shalt find them. Farewell!_**


	35. Chapter 35 The Great River

_Some are born to drink great coffee, other are invited to do so.__  
__Then there are us, who must drink the cold coffee of another's despite;__  
__Who turned off the perk when my back was turned? Grr!_

**The Great River**

Suddenly the River Andunkin swept the Fellowship around a bend, and the banks rose on either side, and lights of Lóriandadanish was hidden. To that fair café NescaFrodo never came again.

The Travelers now turned their faces to the journey: the sun was before them and their eyes were dazzled, for all had forgotten their sunglasses, except for Legolatté, who never took his off. Gemli wept openly.

"I have dined my last on that which is most delicious," he said to Legolatté his companion. "Henceforth I shall call nothing delicious, unless it be her gift." He put his hand on his breast, where hidden lay three golden strands of the Lady Godivariel's hair and a little pouch of chocolate kisses the Lady have given him.

"Tell me, Legolatté, why did I come on this Quest? Little did I know where the best coffee was served. Truly Elground spoke, saying that we could not foresee what desserts we might eat upon our road, nor know the kinds of espresso we might be called upon to drink. Dark roast without sugar was the torment I feared, yet it did not hold me back. Yet I would not have come, if I had known the danger of chocolate and whipped cream. Now I have taken my worst wound in this parting, even if I were to go this night straight to Mordonut! Alas, for Gemli son of Gloinchop!"

"Nay," answered Legolatté, wiping away his milk-mustache. "Alas for us all! And for all that walk the malls of Middle-girth. For such is the way of it: to find and lose, as it seems to those who find a really good restaurant with clean tables and reasonable prices, and just when they become accustomed to the atmosphere and clientele, the doors are closed and the counter becomes dusty. But I count you blessed, Gemli: for your loss you suffer of your own free will, and you might have chosen otherwise, if Celebraun hadn't threatened you with that restraining order. You have not abandoned your companions, and the least reward that you shall have is that the memories of Lóriandadanish shall remain ever clear and unstained in your photo-album, so long as you do not remove them from their protective sheets."

"Maybe," said Gemli, peevishly. "True words doubtless, and I thank you for them, but all such comforts are cold. Photos are not what the heart desires, even if they are autographed and covered with lipstick-smears. So says the heart of Gemli the Dwarf!

"But let us talk of it no more. Look to the boat! She is too low in the water, loaded down with all these packages of lembascotti and instant cappuccino that the Lady gave us. I do not wish to drown my grief in cold coffee!" He took up a spoon-shaped paddle and steered them toward the western bank, following Aromagorn's boat ahead, which had already moved out of the middle stream.

And so the Company went on their long way, down the wide hurrying waters, past the 7-11's and the Café Espresso's, borne ever southwards. Each bore away a gift from the Lady of Chocolate, as well as the memory of that fair land Lóriandadanish, that crystallized in their hearts bitter-sweet, like lemon-drops.


	36. Chapter 36 Of Thinwafer and Meliano

**Of Thinwafer and Meliano **

Meliano was a Maia, and among all the people of the Valar there were none more beautiful than Meliano, nor more wise, nor more skilled in making coffeecake. It is told that the Valar would leave their works, and the birds of Valinor their mirth, that the percolators were silent and the caffeine fountains ceased to flow, when at the mingling of the Creme and Sugar Meliano baked.

She was akin before the world was make to Javana herself; and in that time when the Early Risers awoke beside the waters of Cuivienen she departed from Valinor and came to the Dither Lands, and there she filled the emptiness of Middle-girth before the dawn with sticky-buns and fresh coffee.

The Early Risers were divided into three groups of people. Some relished the holy muffins that Meliano baked, and they became the Branyar, and they were always timely. Other folk desired ever the sweet pastry from her hands, and they were called the Noldanish. Still there were others who enjoyed the breads of Valinor, and they were known as the Bagetelari.

The leader of this last group was Thinwafer, Lord of the Bagetelari, and he went often into the bakery of Meliano. There he fell under an enchantment, for having consumed too much of the Holy Bread, he descended into a sugar-coma, and was lost for a time. He forgot utterly all his people and all the purposes of his mind.

Thus Thinwafer's folk who sought him found him not, and thus Olgrainwe took kingship of the Bagetelari and they departed. Thinwafer came never again across the sea to Valinor so long as he lived, and Meliano returned not thither while their business together lasted. In after days he became King of the Kitchen, and Meliano his Queen, and their halls were Multigrainoth, the Thousand Seed-cake Caves, in Deliath. And of the baking of Thinwafer and Meliano there came into the world the most delicious pastries of all the Early Risers of Brewluvatar that was or shall ever be: The Cupcakes.


	37. Chapter 37 Picnic on Perk Galen

_Author's Note:  
__It wasn't enough that I went 'there' and wrote it, but I had to go back and write it again! Coffee corrupts! Please enjoy..._

**Special Extended Extra Revised Perk Galen Scene**

NescaFrodo was roused by Sanka, with a great steaming cup of coffee. He found that he was lying, well wrapped, under tall grey-coloured marquees depicting the virtues of BlackPerk Coffee. These signs had begun to appear with increasing frequency after they had left Lóriandadánish, so that it was impossible to travel for any length without seeing their neon glare, their eye-searing pop blandishments depicted in primary colours. In spite of their distasteful advertisements, NescaFrodo had slept the night away, and the grey of morning was dim among the bare branches of the winter-bitten trees. Gemli was busy with a small fire near at hand.

They started again before the day was broad. NescaFrodo was content to let the decision he must make, come their arrival at the Candirock Isle, remain unchosen. He did not even want to choose whether to have cookies or poundcake with his coffee. Luckily, he had Sanka to provide for him.

They saw no sign of the Enemy that day, nor the next. The dull grey hours passed without event. MochaMerry and Drippin began to play a game of Eye-Spy, which all the Companions joined in half-heartedly, except for Boromocha; he was distracted, frowning and nibbling on his fingernails, sometimes talking to himself in a strange voice. The two half-caffs scooted as far away from him as room in their small boat permitted.

Soon the trees thinned and disappeared, and even the billboards, scrawled with horkish graffiti over the StarBrandyBuck announcements, were few and far between. On the eastern bank to their left they saw long formless slopes stretching up and away toward the sky; brown and withered they looked, as if hundreds of years of old coffee-grounds had been dumped upon them, leaving no patch of earth or shard of china unstained; they had come to the Brown Lands that lay, vast and desolate, between Southern Milkwood and the hills of Egon Medimucil.

Upon the west to their right the land was featureless and flat, and in many places green with wide plains of grass or reddish with clay, not unlike Western Kansas. As the Company floated past, many were heard to mutter under their breath the wish that someone would plant a tree or two, already. There was no sign of living moving things, save birds and a few naturalists wandering amid the windswept meads living off of bugs, bark, lizards and leaves.

"How wide and empty and mournful all this country looks!" said NescaFrodo. "I always imagined that as one journeyed south, it got warmer and merrier, until winter was left behind for ever. My travel agent is a bold-faced liar!"

"We have not journeyed that far south yet," answered Aromagorn, who hoped one day to be employed as a travelguide, if that Kingship-thingy in Gondaroma did not work out. "It is still winter, and we are far from the best resorts."

As they sailed on, the land growing bleaker and the river wider and more shallow, there was little speech and no merriment in the boats, only the murmur of MochaMerry and Drippin, persisting in their game.

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with...'W'." said Drippin.

Even MochaMerry sighed. "Please, don't tell me... 'water', right?"

"Very good, MochaMerry!" exclaimed Drippin. "Your turn!"

"I don't want to play anymore," MochaMerry said sourly, trailing his hand in the water and hoping for an alligator attack or something to liven up the afternoon.

"Okay, I'll go again... I spy with my little eye, something beginning with... 'M'."

MochaMerry looked around, but all he saw was brown grass, green grass, boats and water. "'More water'?" he ventured a guess, hoping he was wrong.

"Right again! How did you know? I spy with my little eye something beginning with 'E'."

"'Even more water'," said Boromocha between clenched teeth. MochaMerry closed his eyes and started to cry from boredom.

Sanka was listening half-heartedly; even the moronic games of MochaMerry and Drippin were more interesting than the scenery. He sat in the boat, facing back, over the bowed heads of NescaFrodo and Aromagorn and the following boats. Something caught his eye, and he said aloud suddenly, "I spy with my little eye, something beginning with 'G'," but by then, even Drippin did not want to play anymore.

They camped on a miserable patch of gravel in the center of the river. Sanka took first watch, mumbling about logs with eyeballs and the possibility of early senility settling in. He woke NescaFrodo for second watch, and so he sat up in the dreary darkness, listening to the muttering of the river and the snores if his companions, until he was half asleep again, himself. Then he saw it, too: a dark shape floating close to one of the boats; a long pale hand with fingers stained with caffeine that reached out and grabbed the gunwale; two lamplike eyes that blinked and watered and shone coldly as they looked about, and they lifted and gazed up at NescaFrodo on the sandbar. NescaFrodo hastily unsheathed Zinger, facing the eyes. There came a hiss like an angry kettle and the thing dove back into the water.

Aromagorn stirred in his sleep and sat up. "Why have you drawn your sword, NescaFrodo? Cut off a slice of that lembascotti for me!"

"We've got company, Styroamer," said NescaFrodo. "Gulp'up, I would guess."

"Ah, so you know about our little moocher, do you? He padded after us all through Moreeka and right down the Nimrodeli. Since we took to the boats, he has been swimming along behind, with only his snorkel visible in the reeds. I wish I could get my hands on him. We might make him useful, as he knows these lands fairly well, being a nosy little git as he is. We shall have to move faster after today. The plot is beginning to drag."

And so the moved faster there after, mostly because the river became rough and quick-moving, and of the creeping Gulp'um, no more was seen. At one point, when the waters turned white as churned cream, horks appeared on the east bank to pepper them with arrows tied with coupons for accelerated edibles establishments, shrieking curses and commercial jingles at them in their foul languages.

The Companions forged ahead, ignoring them. Under the shadow of bushes leaning out over the water, they halted and drew their breath. Legolatté threw down his paddle and took up his slingshot, a parting gift from Haldiroast in Lóriandadánish. He sprang ashore and climbed a few paces up the bank. Fitting a rockcake in the pouch, he drew back the sling and turned, peering back over the River into the darkness.

NescaFrodo looked up at the Elf standing tall above him. His head was dark, backlit by the sharp white stars that glittered in the blackboard of the sky, spelling out self-help slogans in Elvish. But a dark cloud sailed up from the South, blotting out the stars.

"_Elberethin Minthel_," sighed Legolatté as he looked up. Sudden dread fell on the company, and NescaFrodo felt a sudden chill running through him, as if he saccharine-poisoned shoulder-wound were suddenly re-opened. Not a cloud at all, but a great winged creature it was, blacker than the darkest roast coffee, and with it came a bitter wind that stank like putrid peanutoil.

Suddenly the rubberbands of Legolatté sang out. Shrill went the scone from the Elven-sling. NescaFrodo looked up. Almost above him the winged shape swerved. There was a harsh croaking swearword as it fell out of the air, crashing down on top of a group of horks with a splat.

"Praised be the hand and eye of Legolatté, and the slingshot of the _Godivarim_!" said Gemli, after they had made their getaway and had pulled up their little boats on a smooth green lawn.

The Dwarf quickly lit a fire, and soon the coffee was bubbling and steaming in NescaFrodo's favourite cup. Still, he was not comfortable, for the eyes of Boromocha followed him wherever he went, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

Now came the time that NescaFrodo had dreaded; now he must choose which way to go. But what choice was there? There was only one road to Mordonut, and on that road he could ask no one to follow him. Gathering his resolve and all the instant coffee and lembascotti he could stealthfully carry, he slipped away from his companions, farewelling them in his heart, that they might find a safer path than that dark one he saw rising before his own feet. Terrified as he was, he would not lead his friends to darkness and death in that land of dread danish and diluted coffee. Swiftly, he made his escape.

At the top of the hill, NescaFrodo slowed his pace. His resolve was not lessened, but the weight of the coffee and travelbread he carried was very great, much heavier than he was accustomed to bearing. He set his burden down beside an ancient espresso machine, overgrown with ivy, and tried to catch his breath.

NescaFrodo looked up, for he felt unfriendly eyes upon him, but when he turned he saw only Boromocha, and his face was kind.

"I was afraid for you, NescaFrodo. The gobblings may be on this side of the river now, and it is not safe for one to brew alone. May I stay and speak with you, now that I have found you? The others debate endlessly, yet we two together may drink coffee. Will you hear my advice?"

"I know already what you would say, Boromocha. Go to Minas Teabag, and use the coffee-ring there. And it would seem like good coffee, but for the warning in my heart."

"Warning? Warning about what? Do you need a Rol-aids?"

"No, 'tis not heartburn, but fear. I am afraid, Boromocha."

"If it is so, even the boldest would pardon you. Are you sure you do not brew needlessly? Come with me, NescaFrodo! My city is not far. You can go on the Mordonut from there, if you wish. Trust me..." Boromocha's eyes lit with a strange light, and his voice became odd, "Lend me the coffee-ring!"

"No! No! It is for me to bear! Keep your hands to yourself!"

"Will you not even let me make trial of my beans? Curse you, you and all the half-caffs!" Boromocha chases NescaFrodo around the glade, his hands shaking, until he trips over the powercord to the espresso machine, and falls on his face. NescaFrodo flees from him, disappearing into the forest with the aide of his Elven-cloak, woven in the colours of coffee with much cream.

Boromocha raised his head after much weeping. "NescaFrodo, come back! A madness took me, but it has passed! Don't take the coffee away!"

But NescaFrodo did not heed him. He was far away, running as fast as he could without spilling his coffee. He shouted over his shoulder as he ran, "Try some de-caff!"


	38. Chapter 38 The Breaking of the Cup

**The Breaking of the Cup**

_Sturgeon's Generally Warning: contains high amounts of caffeine and irreverence. Consume at your own risk._

...and so the fellowship of the cup was dispersed, sundered, rent apart, disbanded. In a word, broken.

NescaFrodo fled as fast as his furry feet could bear him, and he clutched the CoffeeRing with one hand and held his coffeecup in the other. But he could not hold both the CoffeeRing and his cup, so at last he had to drop one, and his cup fell and shattered on the stones. Many sweet drops of coffee did he spill with his tears as he ran, mourning for the loss of his mug that had served him coffee so faithfully (which had been a gift from his Uncle Bilbean and had said in lovely scrolled Elvish lettering "Fill, Sweeten, Drain, Repeat"), and in terror of the memory of Boromocha's caffeine-deranged attack.

"This is the curse of the Black Coffee at work!" he thought grimly, "I must take it far away before it can stain the souls of more of my friends."

And another part of his mind added, in a new voice silky as chocolate syrup, "And then, you won't have to share!" NescaFrodo turned his mind away from this strange thought, but he could not keep it from his head entirely. He ran on, until he came to where they had moored their boats. He could hear the voices of his friends calling from the woods, apparently playing hide-and-seek.

"I bet Sanka is "it" again," he thought ruefully, wishing for a passing moment that he could stay and play for a round or two. Instead, he pushed one boat into the river and leapt inside. Like teacups were the boats of the Elves of Lóriandadánish shaped, and their oars were fashioned as large spoons. NescaFrodo began to paddle out into the strong current, seeking to pass by the roaring waterslide and escape into the trees on the East side of the river.

"Mr NescaFrodo, sir! Wait... Wait for me!" cried Sanka, who had appeared on the shore. He hefted his huge backpack and flung it toward the boat, where it struck NescaFrodo in the head and knocked him senseless. Sanka waded out into the river and they were both swept by the strong current toward the Waterslide of Rauros.

"AAAARRRGGGHHHHHhhhhhhwwwwwWWWWHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Both NescaFrodo and Sanka cried as they rode the white waters over the slide. Surfacing with a laugh, NescaFrodo said, "That was GREAT! Legolatté is gonna love this ride! Let's go again!"

But alas! a great line of tourists waited on the Stairs to take a turn on the Slide, and a sign at the end of the line said "Approximate Ride Wait: 1.5 years"

Sadly NescaFrodo and Sanka took their leave, before their companions could note their absence. With luck they would be searching for hours, believing that the two half-caffs had found really good hiding places.

NescaFrodo shouldered his pack, which seemed unusually heavy. He placed one hand on his friend's shoulder and said, "I am glad you are with me, Sanka."

Sanka smiled and followed his master. "I am glad I am with you, too, Mr. NescaFrodo," he murmured quietly, "I put all the coffeebeans in your backpack!"


	39. Chapter 39 The Lament for Boromocha

_Serious spew-guard warning for those operating delicate ecklectrical devices!_

**The Lament For Boromocha**

For a while, the three companions remained silent, gazing upon the mounded heap of coffee grounds beneath which they had buried their friend Boromocha. Then Aromagorn spoke. "They will look for him in the cafés of the White City," he said, "but he will not return to pay his tab." Then slowly he began to sing:

_Through Yuban over cup and caraffé where the coffee flows __  
__The Westinghaus comes waffing, it is pleasing to the nose. __  
__What's new from Yuban, O smelliferous wind, in the bread-house of the King? __  
__Have you seen Boromocha the Stoked as he went searching for Sour'on's bling? _

_"I saw him drinking seven mugs of coffee freely poured. __  
__I saw him chasing Héomer because he stole his sword. __  
__Gone to the Cafés of Rivendell, in search of the half-caff; __  
__If you see him, say Mayówyn would like his autograph." _

_O Boromocha! From the high walls I saw your horn gleaming in the sun __  
__But you should learn a different tune than_ 'Gondorians Just Wanna Have Fun'.

Then Legolatté sang:

_Into the mouths of the Elves the coffee flows, taken in small sips __  
__Beware of Elground's brownies, one second on the lips, an Age on the hips! __  
__What news from the Edainish, O sugary wind, whisper sweetly of his lore; __  
__Has Boromocha finally found what he is looking for? _

_"Ask not of me where he doth dawdle, drinking extra-strong brewed Cain's. __  
__On the white cloths are woven mats to hide the coffee stains __  
__Left behind when the Fellowship went to roast the Coffee Ring. __  
__Oh... you might remind Aromagorn to act more like a King." _

_O Boromocha! Upon the mountains, beans grow taller than an Elf __  
__Remember that you cannot drink all the coffee by yourself!_

Then Aromagorn sang again:

_From the Chocolate streams of Godivariel, flowing past the Waterslide __  
__We hustled with NescaFrodo on a teacup ride __  
__What darkroast brew did Boromocha drink to make him lose his head? __  
__Can I get a cup of that to go, and a slice of banana bread? _

_"Of Sour'on's brew did Boromocha sup, though he knew not what he did. __  
__He freaked out NescaFrodo and the little half-caff hid. __  
__Now he and Sanka have gone ahead, so that the Quest won't fail __  
__While you are left with Boromocha, dead as a doornail!" _

_O Boromocha! What were you thinking, you should have stayed at home __  
__Where the cream is white and the coffeebeans are always mountain-grown!_

Then Gemli burst into song:

_Brew, brew, brew your beans __  
__Drink your coffee straight! __  
__Only Elves and girlscouts __  
__Use flavoured Coffeemate!_

Aromagorn rolls his eyes toward the reader and says in a whisper, "Now you know why we really didn't let him sing!" **kingly wink**


	40. Chapter 40 Emyn Muil Munchies

_Warning! This is an irreverent Parody, written by an escaped lunatic dressed as an Elf. If you see her, do not approach her. She is armed with a quill and considered extremely silly. Whatever you do, don't let her drink any coffee!_

**Lord of the Coffee; Emyn Muil Munchies**

_The Half-caffs NescaFrodo and Sanka have broken off from their friends, survived the Water Slide of Rauros, and are now hopelessly lost in the brown-sugar coated hills of the Emyn Muumuu. The days grow darker and the coffee is cold... and always there is the odor of stale bread and yeast on the biting wind from the East..._

"Good thing that the Lady Godivariel gave you that piece of overcooked spaghetti, Sanka!" said NescaFrodo. "We would never have got down that last cliff without it."

"Gotten down easier we would have, Mr. NescaFrodo, if you hadn't'a eaten the last ten els a'for I got down all the way!" Sanka complained, rubbing his bruised backside.

"Sorry Sanka… something about this place just makes me hungry. It's about time for a coffee break, wouldn't you say?" NescaFrodo asked, staring down into the huge pit that opened just beside the narrow path they had found.

"Aye, Mr. NescaFrodo, but we have to be careful. We only have so many beans left, and there isn't much of that Elven Coffeecake left, neither. We'll need to ration it or we'll run out. There should be enough as long as it's just the two of us…"

At that moment there was a crash of rocks falling. Several large stones and a greyish-green, emaciated, smelly creature fell from the cliff above them and landed at their feet, right on the edge of the pit. Without hesitation, Sanka helpfully plants a large hairy foot on the creature's back and kicks him over the edge.

"Sanka! That was a not-right thing to do!" admonished NescaFrodo with a stern frown and a giggle.

"No, sir, it wasn't. But we'll just call it payback in advance. I have a feeling we ain't seen the last of that slinker!"

Sméagolatté crawls out of the pit, covered with scratches and mud. "Playful half-caffss. Having a game with poor Sméagolatté! But they play roughs, don't they, my deliciouss?"

"What do you want," demanded NescaFrodo, disgust and annoyance on his fair features. He shielded his coffee cup with one hand, "Why are you following us?"

"Just wants to helps, yes deliciouss! Just to be helpfuls, we wishes. Going to Mordonut, aren't they? We can show them the ways in. Sméagolatté will be your guide!"

"We don't need a guide!" exclaimed Sanka, not liking the looks (or smell) of the treacherous creature, "We can see the ruddy mountain from here! Don't listen to him, Master. All he wants is the Coffee Ring!"

At the mention of the Coffee Ring, a strange transformation occurs. Sméagolatté's eyes roll up into his head and his tongue lolls out; his fingers twitch and his skin turns blue; he begins to foam at the mouth and he makes a weird noise in his throat, "Gulp'um, gulp'um!"

"Watch out, Mr. NescaFrodo," cautioned Sanka, "He'll mooch!"

"Cruel half-caff! It doesn't care if Sméagolatté is thirssty… it doesn't care if we should doze!"

Sméagolatté crept closer to NescaFrodo slowly, a caffeinated gleam in his eyes. "Not like Masster! Masster cares… Masster knowss!" He grovels at NescaFrodo's feet, begging, "Give uss a cups of coffee, deliciousss! Good Masster! Good Sméagolatté!"

"Do not say that! Do not think it! The 'Delicious' mastered you long ago. Before ever you taste the coffee again, I shall drink it and command you to leap off of a cliff, or through flaming hoops in a tu-tu, and you would do it, Sméagolatté! You know who the Coffee Keeper is… so back off!"

Sméagolatté crawled on the ground and groveled, muttering 'Nice Master! Nice Massster!'

NescaFrodo was moved to pity by the wretched creature. He offered him his half-finished coffee.

"No," whispered Sanka as NescaFrodo hands Sméagolatté a cup. "You don't know what he'll be like with a cup of java in him."

"Don't worry, Sanka, it's just the instant stuff that the Elves gave us for traveling," said NescaFrodo.

Sméagolatté gulped down the coffee, then spat it out and began to cough violently. "Yech! It tries to poisons uss! We can't drink half-caff brew! We musst go to Starbucks!"

"Starbucks? Lead the way, Sméagolatté!" said NescaFrodo, grabbing up his pack. "I hope they're not out of triple-chocolate Cheesecake!"


	41. Chapter 41 The 3 or so Hunters

**The Three (or so) Hunters **

_The epic story of the Lord of the Coffee continues after the Cup of the Fellowship is broken, and NescaFrodo and Sanka depart toward Mordonut to destroy the CoffeeRing. The rest of the Fellowship are sundered, the half-caffs being kidnapped by unfriendlies and the Elf, Man, and Dwarf left with a dead companion. They hastily cover him with old coffeegrounds and hurry to rescue their little friends. They must, you see, for the half-caffs have on them their punchcards for a free grandé mocha at StarBrandyBucks. And now, on with the story..._

Aromagorn, Legolatté, and Gemli began running after the gobblings who had abducted MochaMerry and Drippin. Such was their desire to recover their dear companions that they only stopped long enough to partake a cup or two of instant coffee. _Now, that is true friendship!_

Gemli ran as fast as he could, but as a dwarf his legs were somewhat less in length than the legs of his companions. He fell behind quickly, causing Legolatté to pause frequently and urge him to hurry up. As if he was dawdling on purpose! After the fifth such harangue, he lost his temper.

This was ridiculous! Gemli watched his long-legged friends disappear into ahead around a corner, then he stopped, puffing. Looking around and seeing no one, he rapped on the side of a rock and spoke a phrase in Khaffee-doodle, the secret language of Dwarves. A door appeared magically and he jumped inside before it slammed shut, just before Legolatté popped his head back around the corner of the rocks he and Aromagorn had disappeared behind.

"Where is the dwarf?" asked Aromagorn.

"He's gone!" exclaimed Legolatté, going back to where he had last seen the dwarf standing. There was nothing there but rocks. The dwarf's heavy boot prints simply stopped as if he had vanished into thin air.

"Hurry up there, you two!" Startled the Elf and Man turned and saw that Gemli was suddenly in front of them, sitting on a rock and munching on a donut. "We are in a hurry, aren't we?" he asked sarcastically.

"How did he get ahead of us?" asked Aromagorn.

"Perhaps he has been taking wizard lessons," retorted Legolatté.

They ran to the place where they had seen the Dwarf, but he was gone when they arrived. He appeared suddenly far ahead, a small hairy spec on the horizon, waving and shouting. "Get a move on, you lazy mugs!"

Legolatté and Aromagorn ran and ran, but they could not keep up with the Dwarf. He would always disappear and reappear ahead of them, sometimes leaving hot cups of coffee for his lagging companions with some of his signature cinnamon rolls. Thus they crossed the land of Yuban.

At last they came panting up to the Dwarf, sitting beside a blazing fire warming his feet and toasting coffeebeans on a stick. Both Elf and Man were covered with sweat, gasping to catch their breath. Gemli was laughing at them. "You two are sweating like pigs."

"Elves do not sweat... they glisten," retorted Legolatté.

"Whatever," said Gemli. "While you two were dragging your feet, I found this place. You will notice that the fire is fueled by gobblings and horcs. MerryMocha and Drippin have run into the forest of Cremehorn, though they were warned not to. The silly drips!"

"How... how did you get so far ahead of us," asked Aromagorn, when he could talk again.

Gemli glanced around to make sure no one was nearby listening. "The Dwarven Underground Railroad," whispered the Dwarf conspiratorially.

"The Dwarven Underground?" said Legolatté in surprise. "I thought that was a political movement!"

"Why did you not get us all tickets," asked Aromagorn angrily.

"What, and waste all that South Island footage? I wouldn't dream of ruining the NZ tourist trade like that. Besides, we still would have been late. This heap is a day old." Gemli stood up and hefted his axe. "Come on, let's..." he began to say, then his eyes bugged out and he stared past them, pointing mutely back the direction they had come from.

A single figure appeared on the horizon, running at a strange pace. He was too far away to be seen clearly by Gemli or Aromagorn, but they could tell he was walking five steps and then suddenly running the next five, then slowing down for five steps again, then jogging. As he loped thus closer, Legolatté exclaimed in shock, "'Tis Boromocha! How can this be? He was dead as doornail!"

Boromocha jogged-walked-jogged up to them, lightly perspiring (princes of Gondaroma do not sweat, either). "Ah, caught up with you at last!" he said, and began to stretch his legs. He was somewhat hindered by the three arrows still sticking out of his chest.

"Boromocha!" exclaimed Aromagorn. "Thou art not dead!"

"Can't sneak one past the heir of Isillydur, can we?" said Boromocha to the Elf and Dwarf. "Of course I am not dead! This is just a flesh wound! I say, do you think you could..." he gestured to the protruding arrow-shafts. Aromagorn grabbed one and yanked it out. "Ouch! Thanks! I am lucky you guys did not put me in a boat and shove me over the waterfall! When you (ouch! Easy, 'Gorny!) covered me over with coffeegrounds, the caffeine seeped down into me and reawoke my will to live. I just (ouch!) feel a little jittery. Do you have any brownies?"

"This is amazing," said Gemli. "But we are no closer to our goal. Where are the half-caffs? Where are the Men who slaughtered the gobblings? Where are our horses and what do we do next?"

"Maybe we should ask that wizard over there," said Legolatté, pointing.

"Gandgulp!" shouted the three... I mean, four hunters.

"Doesn't anyone ever **stay** dead in this story?" grumbled Aromagorn.


	42. Chapter 42 Of Herbal Tea & Biscotti

**Of Herbal Tea and Biscotti  
**  
_This is a caffeine-reduced parody of one of my favourite chapters of Lord Of The Rings; The Two Towers. Please cover your monitors with spittle-proof plastic shields to avoid electrical shock._

Sanka was asleep. In his dream, he was wandering around the dim corridors of TeaBagEnd with a coffeepot in his hand, looking for his cup. He looked in all the cupboards, and under the tables. He went through every room and looked outside the round green door. He searched in the pantry, where there were many finely baked cakes and cookies, and chocolate swiss cheesecakes and cinnamon rolls, all hot and dripping butter. There were moist nutbreads and piping-hot cherry-filled pastries in crisp sugared pieshells, and large warm muffins with walnut and pecan, poppyseed cakes and lemon meringue pie, and...

Sanka woke up when he heard a stomach growl. He wasn't sure if it was his or the reader's, but now that he was awake he judged it was high time for some victuals. He looked around and noticed that NescaFrodo had fallen asleep again, his hand still tightly clenching his coffee cup. Sanka gently pried his fingers loose from the empty cup and covered him tenderly with a blanket.

He heard a stomach growl again, and he was sure it was his this time. There was still some elven biscotti left, but Sanka wanted to save that precious bread for the harder days to come. Anyway, he was hungry for something a little more substantial.

He walked over the where Gulp'um lay snoring and thumped him on the head. Gulp'um woke with a start and a snort.

"Oh, sorry, old bean!" said Sanka, unconvincingly apologetic, "But as long as you're up, could you possibly go and find something fit for a hungry half-caff to eat? I feel a desire for something 'hot out of the pot'."

Gulp'um looked at him with bleary eyes. He wandered away, muttering something about "out of his mind", but Sanka was sure that he must have mis-heard him say 'Yes, of course, I would be glad to go hunting for you!'

Satisfied, Sanka set about building a fire. It was burning nicely and smoking up a storm by the time Gulp'um returned with a brace of young wild tealeaves. Sanka could hardly believe his eyes.

"Whoa! Fresh tea! Mr. NescaFrodo is gonna love this!" He snatched the leaves out of Gulp'um's hands and got out his tea cage. Gulp'um gave a thin hissing shriek.

"Ach! Sss-- no!" he cried. "No! Silly half-caff, foolish, yes foolish! They mustn't do it!"

"Mustn't do what?" asked Sanka in surprise.

"Mustn't brew the tea!" squealed Gulp'um in dismay. "Spoil beautiful leaves that Sméagolatté saved for you, poor sleepy Sméagolatté! What for? They are fresh, they are chewable, they are nice. Eat them, eat them raw!"

"Ye-_UCK_!" said Sanka. "Each to his own fashion. A raw, unbrewed whole tea leaf chokes me, and my hands around your scrawny neck chokes you... er, I mean, you didn't care for elf-biscotti. You give me some leaves, their mine, see, to brew, if I have a mind. And I have. You needn't watch me. Go and find some more and so whatever you want with them-- somewhere private and out o' my sight. Then you won't see the tea brewing, and I won't see you, and we'll both be happier. I will see that the tea doesn't over-steep, if that's any comfort to you."

Gulp'um withdrew grumbling. Sanka busied himself with the leaves. "What a half-caff needs with some tea," he said to himself, "is some herbs, especially mint and lemonpeel-- not to mention scones! Herbs we can manage, seemingly."

Sanka tried his sweetest voice, "Gulp'um! I want some herbs! Will you get them for me, while I watch the water boil?"

"No!" came the curt answer from inside the bushes where Gulp'um had crawled. "Sméagolatté is not pleased. Sméagolatté doesn't like smelly herbs. Doesn't drink tea with lemon and nassty dry cookies, no delicious! Not until he is starving or very sick, or visiting his grandmother."

"Sméagolatté will get his own beans boiled if he doesn't do as he is asked," growled Sanka. "I'll steep his head, yes delicious. Well, that wouldn't be delicious at all, now that I consider it." Sanka shuddered at the thought of 'Gulp'um Tea'. "Come on, Sméagolatté! Just a couple of mint lozenges, please?"

"Sméagolatté won't go, O no delicious! Not this time," hissed Gulp'um. "He's frightened, and he's very tired, and this half-caff's not nice, not nice at all. Sméagolatté won't search for sconeses and lemonses and -- mint. What's mint, delicious, eh? What's mint?"

"Pe--per--mint," said Sanka, licking his lips. "The tickle in the tea, the catch in the coffee! Makes the whole kettle into a wonderful fragrant brew. Drinking tea with mint is like eating a York Peppermint Pattie in a steambath with twelve Elven supermodels..." Sanka broke off his daydream and coughed. "But you needn't look for them; ye won't find any supermodels... er, I mean peppermint in these woods. I'll settle for some licorice."

Gulp'um rolled his eyes at Sanka and wandered off. Sanka ended up gathered the herbs himself, listening to Sméagolatté's complaining voice gradually fade away, becoming just an echo of muttering that could have been the wind, or the water boiling.

Sanka steeped the tea and the herbs, then he took a cup to NescaFrodo. NescaFrodo half opened his eyes as Sanka stood over him; he could smell the heavenly scent from the steaming cup.

"Hullo, Sanka!" he said, "Not resting? Is anything wrong? What is that wonderful smell?"

"A present from Sméagolatté. A brace of young tea leaves, though I fancy ol' Gulp'um's regretting them now. There's naught to go with it but some herbs and stale biscotti."

They sipped their tea, but gradually the ground began to tremble, as if there were huge rams dinning the earth, and there was a strange high-pitched noise, a great baritone squeaking. NescaFrodo and Sanka crouched in the bushes and saw down the slope from their hiding place a strange sight:

There were many men passing, and they were dressed in yellow and green. Their dress looked outlandish to the half-caffs, but strangest of all were the weird, triangular wedges of yellow cheese they wore on their heads. There was a strange, sharp odor in the air.

"Who are they?" whispered Sanka.

"These are Men from the South; _Paquerphanz_ I think they are called. In our language, we call them 'cheeseheads'. They are going to Mordonut to serve fingerfoods to the Dark Lord Sour'on."

At that moment, the great noise was repeated, and before the half-caff's unbelieving eyes appeared a vision of bizarreness that they had never before imagined. Both drew in breath and uttered, "Whoa!"

Grey as a whale,  
With a thin pink tail,  
Though I am nimble,  
I make the earth tremble,  
As I scamper through the grass;  
Trees crack as I pass.  
With whiskers round my mouth  
I nibble in the South,  
Though I am gentle as a waif,  
No cheese is ever safe  
Beyond walls of steel;  
I shall find my meal.  
Never run from a cat,  
I am too big for that,  
I don't even try.  
Enormouse am I,  
Biggest of all,  
Huge, cute, and tall.  
If ever you'd met me  
You will claim something you ate  
Has sickened your mind and  
Made you hallucinate  
But Old Enormouse am I,  
_And I never lie.  
_

NescaFrodo stared at the apparition, then looked down into his tea cup. "Just what kind of herbs did you brew in this tea, Sanka?"


	43. Chapter 43 Golden Halls of Breadoras

**Lord of the Coffee; The Fellowship of the Cup; **

**The Halls of Breadoras**  
_Warning! This is a parody. This is only a parody. In the event of true satire, please follow the instructions on the underside of your inflatable rubber seahorses. Thank you for not snoring._

The companions have found their wizard again, and there was much rejoicing, especially after discovering that he had brought a bottle of coffee liquor that he shared sparingly with them. After an aperitif, the Wizard spoke frankly to his friends...

"You must call me Grandélf, now. I leveled-up after the battle with the foulgrog. I have been waiting for you... um, four to arrive." The Wizard paused, counting the hunters again. "I say, wasn't there supposed to be three of you?"

"Yes, well," said Aromagorn, gesturing at Boromocha, "Some of us are too hyper to die!"

"Grandélf, what of the half-caffs? Have you seen them? Do they have any biscotti left?" asked Gemli.

"They are safe, with the ThermEnts. At the moment, they are on their way to the stronghold of Isencoaster, where Saccharineman dwells and brews his plots of deceit. There will be a storm there soon, and you don't want to be there when the beans hit the fan! Come with me now, friends. I go to the land of Yuban, where we shall meet King Karòden, Héomer and the lady Mayòwyn. If we hurry, we should be able to get there by tea-time."

And so the much reduced Fellowship made their way to Yuban's capitol city Breadoras, a beautiful structure of golden brown set atop a great mound of coffee. They rode upon the horses that Legolatté had 'borrowed' from some riders that had just happened to fall asleep suddenly after the Elf had blindsided them with a sap filled with lead shot.

Aromagorn sat upon his strudel-coloured sorrel remembering his sweetheart Arwenchel, now many hundred leagues behind, waiting patiently for him to go forth and become king. He wondered if their little problems mattered as much as this hill of beans in this crazy world. He sighed and practiced his Bogart impression.

When they arrived at the Goldenroasted Halls of Breadoras, they were met at the door by Grahma Burntongue, the surly and sinister counselor of the King. He tried to slam the door shut, but Grandélf got his staff in the crack and levered it open. "Go away!" he whispered hoarsely. "Don't wake them up!"

Inside was the grand court of King Karòden, and all the courtier and ladies lay about the floor, snoring softly. On a raised dais was a great throne, and upon it sat an old man, frowning at a chessboard. He would move his hand to hover over a gamepiece, then mutter and shake his head, withdrawing his hand. A layer of dust a quarter of an inch thick covered the chessboard.

"Hail, Karòden King!" said Grandélf loudly, kicking one or two idle courtiers as he walked toward the throne. "The courtesy of you hall is somewhat lessened that once it was, my king. What you folks need is a good jolt of coffee." He raised his staff and waited, but no waiter came to take his order. Miffed, he went into the kitchen himself, muttering about how hard it is to find good help nowadays.

Gemli followed the wizard into the kitchen, and he quickly prepared some of his magnificent cinnamon rolls. Legolatté searched the cupboards for some clean cups while Boromocha stood on Grahma's neck as he writhed and squeaked and begged them to _"Shhhhhhh!"_

Aromagorn took the empty seat across from King Karòden. He looked at the chessboard. A game sat there, in stalemate almost but for one more move. The King could win, but to do so he would have to make a decision. "Why do you hesitate, my king?" asked Aromagorn quietly.

King Karòden raised his head slowly, looking at the ranger. "If I win, I lose," answered the King softly.

"Who is your opponent?" asked Aromagorn, looking around.

"I am," said the King. "I began to play this game with myself fifty years ago because no one else in this stupid cattle ranch knows how to play chess. But I have become afraid to finish the game, for if I do, I will lose even as I win, and then I will have naught to live for."

Boromocha overheard the King's soft words, and he snorted with derision. "That is the stupidest thing I ever... how interesting!" he amended, recoiling from the glare that Aromagorn shot him. Then he jumped and yelped as Grahma Burntongue bit him on the knee and scrambled away.

Aromagorn gazed at the King in sympathy, then he stared past the King and pointed, exclaiming, "Holy Mother of Mocha! Will you look at that!" When the wizened king turned to look, Aromagorn jogged the chessboard, sending the pieces scattering across the flagged stone floor. "Did you see that? A velour gremlin just jumped right in the middle of your game! I am so sorry my lord. Perhaps you should start again?"

King Karòden stared at the scattered gamepieces. "No," he answered, "Never again will I be stalemated by myself. Let the coffee pour and the teakettle whistle! Bring me my sword and call my agent. Where is Héomer?"

A tall handsome man came striding into the room. He had long yellow hair and was armed and girded for battle. He walked up to the king and saluted sharply. "Are you ready for your massage, sire?"

The king shook his head and made a cutting-off gesture with his hand. "Not now. We are having some guests for tea. Then I though we might go and fight a war somewhere."

"Good idea! My sword is getting rusty. Let me call out the guard. Let horse be saddled and horn be sounded. Let banner be unfurled and spear be polished. Are we playing a home war or visiting?"

Grandélf walked back into the room at that instant, bearing a great pot of aromatic coffee. The very smell of the beverage itself was enough to wake the entire court. The wizard poured a great cup for the king. "Welcome back, Karòden! Who won?"

"Who cares," muttered Boromocha, drawing his sword and sighting down the blade. "If I don't kill something soon, I am going to forget how!"


	44. Chapter 44 Close Encounters

**Close Encounters of the Absurd Kind**

Drippin lay in a dark and troubled dream: it seemed that he could hear his own small voice echoing in a dimly-lit school cafeteria, calling _NescaFrodo, NescaFrodoooo!_ But instead of his cousin, hundreds of hideous lunch-ladies grinned at him from the shadowy recesses, hundreds of hideous arms grasping at him from every side, pinching his face and saying, _Awww! Isn't he cuuuuute?_. Where was MochaMerry?

He woke, groggy and befuddled. He was lying on his back amid a litter of empty candy-wrappers and crushed styrofoam cups. MochaMerry lay beside him, still swooning in his sugar-coma, his face smeared white with blancmange and his eyes dilated as big as donut-holes. A large red apple had been shoved into his mouth. All about them sat or stood a great company of nasty gobbings and horcs, and their larger and uglier counterparts, the Porc-pai. They were licking their lips and rubbing their stomachs, staring at the half-caffs.

Slowly in Drippin's aching head memory pieced itself together and became separated from the strange dreams of dancing sugar-plums and cherry-phosphate waterfalls. Of course: he and MochaMerry had run off into the woods like idiots, shouting as if all the horcs in the world were not searching the continent for them. They had crashed into a large group of these foul creatures that had been standing arguing about which restaurant they were going to go to and how they were going to divide up the check.

The huge dark-skinned horcs had seized them and stuffed them into sacks, laughing evilly. The sacks were not empty, but contained slightly stale candy left over from Hallowe'en trick-or-treating. Terrified and uncomfortable, the half-caffs nevertheless wasted no time eating everything in their individual sacks, including those nasty black and orange peanutbutter-flavoured waxy taffies that everybody eats last.

Before they passed out from the insulin flux, the half-caffs witnessed the entrance of Boromocha and his heroic attempt to rescue them. He had come leaping out of the trees, shouting, "Those are our half-caffs... get your own!" He had fought well and valiantly but he was far outnumbered, and the gobblings shot him with arrows and pelted him with damp teabags and banana cream pies until he collapsed against a tree. Drippin's last memory of this brave man was of him wiping Coolwhip from his face and plucking out a black-feathered shaft from his shoulder, saying, "Hey! I did **not** order this!" before he fell down and lay still as death. Then a hairy-clawed paw had pushed Drippin deeper into the sack and tied it closed over his head, shutting out the light.

Drippin's head throbbed horribly. 'I suppose I shouldn't have eaten so much candy on an empty stomach,' he said to himself. 'I wonder if poor MochaMerry got more that I did; he doesn't look too well. What are these horcs doing with us, and why didn't they kill us, too? And why am I lying on a large slab of bread with mayonnaise and mustard smeared on me?'

One of the gobblings, a smelly and scabrous fellow, crept forward and prodded MochaMerry's lethargic body with a long, sharpened stick. "There's no time to cook them properly... no time for fondue on this trip."

"That can't be helped," said another. This horc was whetting two knives, throwing sparks into the darkness. He stepped up to Drippin, who cowered back but was unable to move with his hands and feet tied firmly with licorice ropes. "You want white or dark meat?"

"Half-caffs don't have any dark meat, _dimsum_! And we have orders," a third and larger horc growled in a deep voice. He was Ugrúb, the leader of the Porc-pai. "Don't you remember what Sacchrinman said? _If you're going out, bring me back a **little** something... alive and unbroiled._ That's the order."

"Well, we're never going to make it back to Isencoaster in 30 minutes!" complained the first horc. "He won't have to pay for either of them! Can't we eat just one of them now? Putrid please?"

The large Porc-pai raised his sword and shouted, "No! I am Ugrúb! Sacchrineman placed me in command. I return to Isencoaster by the shortest road!"

"_Wizard's pet_," a low voice growled, but when Uglúb whirled around he found only a sea of ugly but innocent-looking faces.

While the horcs argued, Drippin quickly ate his way through the licorice cords that bound his hands. He made quick work of the bindings on his feet, then of MochaMerry's ropes as well. He was just finishing off the apple when he realized that MochaMerry was waking up at last. He shushed his cousin and motioned for him to follow. Together, they ran and disappeared into the nearby trees. The thick branches and moonless night prevented them from seeing a large sign:

**Forest of Cremehorn  
****Do Not Enter! ****  
****Home of dangerously overcaffeinated trees!**

Ugrúb turned back and saw that the half-caffs had escaped. He lowered his sword and sighed. "Well, there's no point in going back to Isencoaster now. It's a silly place, anyway."

He rather welcomed the sight of a hundred and ten mounted horsemen, who proceeded to reduce Ugrúb and the gobblings to mincemeat. And the reader is left only with the following question:

_If a hundred horcs left Perk Galen at 10:30am at the speed of twenty leagues per day, and shortly thereafter a Man, an Elf, and a Dwarf departed from the same place traveling at 15 leagues per day, when X equals the number of cups of coffee consumed, justify the number of bostoncréme éclairs needed to placate them (in base eight) until the next episode of Lord of the Coffee is written. Please present your answer in the form of an essay written on the backs of twenty dollar bills, and mail them to the author of this parody. Class dismissed._


	45. Chapter 45 Forest of Cremehorn

**Forest of Cremehorn**

The hobbits went with as much speed as the dark and tangled forest would allow. The air was stuffy, and full of the fragrance of stale coffee beans.

"I want some air!" announced MochaMerry.

"Let's get a drink at any rate," said Drippin, and they clambered down the bank and scooped the steaming coffee from the running stream. It was hot and dark, but strangely sweet. They took many draughts.

"I suppose you have lost us already!" said Drippin, dunking a piece of lembascotti in the stream.

"I have not!" protested MochaMerry, and smacked his friend with a brioche. "We could follow this caffeine stream out of the Forest, but let us go deeper into the trees... I smell cookies."

They walked on, and soon came to a hill where an old tree-trunk stood alone, espresso oozing from the ancient, time- and weather- pitted bark. They were too eager to be surprised at the remarkable way that their vigor had returned after drinking from the natural coffee-spring. They stood beside the trunk and looked out over the trees back the way they had come. The smell of cookies was stronger, and the sunlight was gleaming upon the leaves now. On the fringe of the Forest, tall spires of curling black smoke went up, wavering and floating towards them.

"Drat! We forgot to turn off the oven! Our orc-crapes have burned!" said MochaMerry, weeping.

"What a pity!" said Drippin. "I was just working up an appetite! This shaggy old Forest looks like a good place for a picnic!"

"A good place for a picnic!" boomed a deep voice behind them. "That is uncommonly nice of you! I hope you brought extras!"

The half-caffs turned slowly and looked up in amazement. They found that they were looking at a most extraordinary face. It belonged to a large Cup-like, almost Mug-like, figure, at least 14 foot high, very sturdy, with a tall frothy head and almost no neck, appearing to have been carved out of a mighty tree-bole. "My name is TeaTreebeard. I almost feel that I dislike both of you, but let us not be hasty. Have you any strudel?"

"No, sir!" answered MochaMerry and Drippin in tiny voices, trembling with fear.

"Hroom, Hoom! Well, then... I shall just trod on you and be on my way... smells like BBQ over in Entwash Valley..." he lifted a mighty foot over their heads.

"Wait!" screamed Drippin, cowering. "My friend MochaMerry here makes the best scones you have ever tasted! And the most excellent Beoring Claws, Trollairs, and Oliphant Ears in Middle-girth!"

MochaMerry squealed in terror. "And Drippin here can... well, he's really good at... um, well...give me a moment..." Drippin elbows MochaMerry sharply in the solar plexus. "Oof!.. oh yeah, he brews a great cup of cocoa!"

"Hoom! That is excellent! Come with me, the both of you." The huge vessel of mirth scooped the hobbits into his arms and carried them away, dragging a long tea-string behind.

He began to sing:

_When Spring unfolds the Black tea leaf  
And Sugar is in the bowl  
When light is on the Coffee pot  
And the brew is black as coal _

When snack is ate and hands do shake  
And Coffee-Break is done...  
Get back to work!  
Get back to work... Or paycheck  
you'll get none!


	46. Chapter 46 Meet TeaTreeBeard

**Meet Teatreebeard**

Drippin, though still amazed, was no longer afraid. "Please, who are you... and what are you?"

"Hoom! hroom! Well, now," Teatreebeard answered, "Well, I am a ThermEnt, or that's what they call me. **_The_** ThermEnt, you might say, after your manner of speaking. I am guardian and a keeper, and I change the filters on the Hot Springs Percolator that feeds the coffee-stream which flows out of the Forest. _Pekoebushychops_ is my Elvish name, but please don't tell anyone... it is rather embarrassing!

The half-caffs both promised to never mention his Elvish name, so he released his head-locks upon them and continued their journey.

"Where are you taking us?" asked MochaMerry, his stomach rumbling so loudly that he had to shout to make himself heard.

"ThermEntmoot." answered the giant beverage holder, and he strode on for many long steps, moving smoothly so as not to spill.

They came to a clearing in the forest, and to MochaMerry and Drippin's surprise, they found a huge earthen vessel shaped like a great rainbarrel, with a spout on the side near the bottom. All around it were gathered many other ThermEnts, of various sizes and capacities, chatting and telling jokes.

ThermEnt strode up angrily and bellowed, "Get back to work, ye lazy mugs!" The ThermEnts scattered, sloshing lukewarm coffee in their haste and leaving trails of pastry crumbs, which the half-caffs ate hungrily.

ThermEnt poured the hobbits small cups of strong sweet coffee, and he stood while they devoured the remains of a great strawberry torte, staring south over the tops of the hedged-lined cubicles.

"There is something brewing in Isencoaster... I feel it in the earth, I feel it in the water, and I smell it in the air..."

"What was that you were saying, Teatreebeard?" asked the half-caffs with their mouths full. They drank from the cups that the ThermEnt had given them, and with a flash of light they both turned into woolen knit tea-cozies.

"Nothing," muttered Teatreebeard, still staring toward the mountains, "Just something I heard in a movie once..."


	47. Chapter 47 Faramocha, Second Fiddle

**Abrief excerpt from "The Council of Elground in Rivendell Perk": **

_Boromacha stood and spoke out: "Give me leave to speak of Gondaroma, Master Elground! Say not that our beans are stale, or that our ground is poor. Those in the West are full of praise for our deeds, but offer only little plates of cookies when we come to tea! We are the filter of the East! What freedom and peace your people enjoy is purchased with our coffee! _

"But I did not come to Rivendell Perk to ask for tea and cake. The wisdom of Lord Elground is in beans, not confections. I have come to seek the unraveling of hard words. On the eve of our last fight, a dream came to my brother Faramocha; oft it came to him, until we cut back on his coffee-intake. And once, in a caffeine-haze, it came to me, also. The Eastern sky grew dark, but in the West a pale light lingered. I heard a voice, remote but clear, and it seemed to say:

"Seek for the beans that were broken:  
In Imladrip it brews.  
There shall be councils taken  
In caffeine-induced muse.  
There shall be shown a token  
That doom is on the land,  
For Isillydur's Bane shall waken  
And the half-caff forth shall stand."

Boromocha continued his speech, "I also dreamed that I was going to school, but that I had forgotten all my clothes, and noone seemed to notice..."

**_...and now, we find ourselves in Isillyin, Under the Dark Counter of Mordonut..._ **

**Faramocha, Second Fiddle of Middle-girth **

The half-caffs settled down in the dry fern after their meal, trying to catch a few winks before Smeagolatté returned and began to snore. The coffee they had consumed made them restless, though, so they lay awake, staring at the leaves of the bay tree swaying over their heads.

Sanka heard a twig snap, and he thought, _Here comes Gulp'um now, the sneak!_ But instead of the withered coffeehound, four Men in brown and green suits with narrow lapels and pinstripes came tramping through the fern, with large rubberband launchers loaded and aimed at the helpless half-caffs.

" 'ere they are, cap'n," said the first one. "Right where you thought we'd find 'em!"

"Now we shall see what manner of creatures they are, and learn what they know," added the second Man, coughing unpleasantly.

"Well, they aren't elves, that's for sure," announced the third Man, who carried a huge slingshot and had two bandoleers crossing his chest, loaded with potatoes. "Captain Faramocha, I think we have some circus escapees on our hands!"

The fourth Man stepped toward the half-caffs, who had leapt to their feet and drawn their small swords when the Men had appeared. He was not unhandsome, and NescaFrodo was astonished to see in him a close resemblance to Boromocha. He was clad in brown and green, like his men but his trousers were tightly fitted, and carried a violin case instead of a rubberband launcher. He was chewing on a matchstick. He looked down at the half-caffs and cracked his knuckles menacingly.

"Spill it, shorty. Who are you and what are you doing in Isillyin? Let me see your passports!" said Faramocha around his matchstick.

"We don't have any," responded Sanka shakily. One of the men had a slingshot aimed right at his head.

"This is our turf, savvy? We don't cotton to folks traipsin' around these parts without asking permission first, see? If you ain't one of us, you are one of them, savvy? What do you take in your coffee?"

NescaFrodo and Sanka looked at each other in alarm. What kind of madmen had they found in the wild this time? "What does 'savvy' mean?" asked NescaFrodo, trying to buy time.

"Um," Faramocha looked uncertain for a moment, then he frowned and bit his matchstick in two, spitting out the pieces. "Never you mind! I'll ask the questions here!" he grabbed NescaFrodo by his lapels and picked him up.

"What… what do you want?" asked the terrified half-caff.

"Cream or Sugar?" the man demanded. When NescaFrodo did not respond, he shook him.

"Both!" cried NescaFrodo. The Man set him down gently.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" He turned to his men and said, "Three javas please, one grandé, all with with cream and sugar. And bring us some of those cranberry and walnut scones!"

They sat down together and drank coffee as the sun rose to zenith. NescaFrodo and Sanka relaxed as they realized that the man must be the brother that Boromocha had referred to back at the Council, the one who had the funny dreams. They watched him as he sat happily drinking his coffee, then glanced at each other askance as he opened the coffee pot and began to rub the damp coffeegrounds into his hair. Acting casual, they inched away from him.

Ainseborn came up to the man and said, "Captain Faramocha, the enemy approaches. Our ambush is ready to spring, on your word."

"Right-o! Let's get crackin'!" the man jumped up and began taking off his suit. "Wardrobe!" he called, and a half-dozen people dashed out of the bushes and helped him change from 'woodland-gangster' to 'commando-joe', still with the tight-fitted camouflage pants. Carefully setting down the violin case, Faramocha removed a SuperSoaker 3000, filled with cold-pressed espresso, with double over- and under-hand spudgrenade launcher and coffeebean slingshot. The half-caffs watched in confused wonder as the men hurried away, leaving Damsinrod and Marblelung to guard them.

They peeked through the baytrees and watched as the forces of Good laid a clever ambush for the forces of Naughtiness and cleaned their clocks with ruthless application of guerrilla tactics and sophomoric locker room hijinks. The Rangers of Gondaroma soon sent the legions of Sour'on packing, dropping their coffeemugs and running for their lives, those who weren't fatally rubberbanded or pummeled to death with potato-pellets.

Faramocha soon returned, flushed with triumph and caffeine. He ordered the troops to form a semi-circle while he questioned the half-caffs.

"Who are you, strangers here?"

"We are half-caffs from the Shire. NescaFrodo Teabaggins in my name, and this is Sanka, my…"

"Body guard? Punching bag? Stunt double?"

"I am his waiter!" replied Sanka with some heat.

"So. What are you doing in Isillyin… and don't tell me a pack of lies about you being on a quest to destroy some ancient evil artifact, with a twisted and schizoid vagabond as your guide. I have heard that one a hundred times!"

"Um, well…" said NescaFrodo, at a loss, "It's funny you should say that…"

"Have you seen my brother?" interrupted Faramocha suddenly. "He is tall, broad-shouldered, kinda arrogant, wears a dress-thingy and swings around a sword. He went missing a few months ago. I have been looking for him."

"I know Lord Boromocha, if that is who you mean. We parted company at Perk Galen, above the Rauros Waterslide."

"Would it grieve you to know that he is dead?"

NescaFrodo was shocked. "I would grieve indeed! He owes me 10 gold pieces! But dead, how? He was alive and kicking when I departed, and he lives still for all I know, tho surely there are many perils in this world."

"There are, and treachery is not the least!" Faramocha showed them something he had kept hidden. "This is the Kazoo of Gondaroma. It has been in my family for many generations. It is always borne by the eldest son of the Breward of Gondaroma. A few nights ago, I found this in Boromocha's room. Apparently he forgot to take it with him. He always was a forgetful git." He tossed the kazoo aside, his eyes becoming dreamy as he said in a loud voice,

**_O Boromocha, whither did thou goest? Whence shalt thou returnest?  
How dost thou conjugate in this courtly speecheth?_**

Faramocha turned his sad eyes to the half-caffs. "I would guess you could put some answer to my riddles, NescaFrodo. But not here and not now. We must go to a secret place nearby, and play canasta and mahjongg until it is safe to travel in the land again. And I must decide what is best to do with you."

"You could just let us go," suggested NescaFrodo lightly, not really wanting to take the time to dally with these strange men.

Faramocha thought about it for a few moments. "You're right! I could let you go… but I am not going to. Guards! Blindfold these guests and put up the piñatas. It is time to go."

And they walked through the evergreen woods of Isillyin, were the birds warbled and the hyenas giggled and all was still and had an air of brooding patience, not unlike a waiting room in a dentist's office.

NescaFrodo walked forward blindly. He held Sanka's hand as they journeyed, guided by the Men. "This Faramocha is totally insane, Sanka," murmured NescaFrodo in his friend's ear.

Sanka squeezed NescaFrodo's hand. "I would be crazy, too, if my pants were that tight!"


	48. Chapter 48 Good Help Hard 2 Find

_Let cup be raised and cream be whipped!  
Let steaming coffee now be sipped!  
A new day! A coffee day!  
And the bread rises!_

**Lord of the Coffee, Fellowship of the Cup;  
Good Help Is Hard To Find**

In Breadoras, home of King Karóden of the Men of Yuban, the Fellowship (that was broken and then pieced back together haphazardly minus the smallest bits) stood around, congratulating each other and drinking coffee. But not long did they have to linger, for there was much on Grandélf's mind, and he spoke of it.

To Karóden he said, "It is good that you have decided to join forces with Minas Teabag! If we leave very soon, we can get there before the buffet is closed. But before that, we must go westward to insure that Sacchrineman cannot come up behind us and give a Rohirrim Wedgie. To Isencoaster we must go!"

Karóden nodded, "I will go with you, but first let us have a feast, to honour our guests and enjoy the things in life today that we may not have to celebrate tomorrow!" They agreed and settled down in one of the artfully carved tables in Messhall'd.

"Can I see â mênu?" asked Gemli. "I hope they have something like a vegetable platter." The Dwarf's upper lip was just level with the tabletop.

"Are you telling me you are on a diet?" asked Legolatté with a laugh.

"Of course not! I just figured that you wouldn't want to eat anything with a higher I.Q. than yours!"

Boromocha scanned his menu and said, "Is there anything here that isn't swimming in gravy?"

"Try the shish-ka-bob," said Aromagorn with a smirk. Boromocha kicked him underneath the table.

"Are you folks ready to order?" intoned a bored, feminine voice.

Standing next to their table was a beautiful, delicate-looking maiden with long flowing golden hair, or rather it would have been long and flowing, if it weren't currently wound up into a magnificent bee-hive hairdo. She was clad in a dress of pale blue with a white apron. In one hand she held a pad of parchment and in the other a pot of coffee. Her nametag read "Hi! I'm Mayówyn".

They stared at her, not knowing what to do or say. Apart from Aromagorn's girlfriend Arwenchel and the Lady Godivariel, this was the first female they had seen in Middle girth. They were struck dumb with amazement.

She returned their stares for a moment, then she said, "I'll come back when you're ready to order..."

All the menfolk suddenly stood up to be polite, except Gemli, who's bucket was stuck in his booster chair.

"M'lady," purred Boromocha, taking the coffee pot from her and kissing her hand suavely. "Greetings from Gondaroma! I'm a prince, you know."

Legolatté uttered the Elvish phrase in appreciation of great mortal beauty and grace, _"Húbba! Húbba! Húbba!"_

The Lady Mayówyn blushed demurely and then slapped both of them silly. "I don't get paid enough for this," she muttered. "What'll it be, Princes Charming?"

Aromagorn said, "I'll have the King of Gondaroma Special, please."

"Make that two," said Boromocha, "Mine with no gravy."

Gimli ordered for himself and Legolatté, saying, "We'll have the Garden Gnome Salad and some red meat on the bone. Please tell me you have malted beer."

"How about a malted milk, junior?" she patted Gemli on his little round head.

Grandélf asked, "Are you still serving breakfast?"

Mayówyn popped her chewing gum, "That depends on when you last ate," she said dryly. Boromocha gazed at her dreamily.

"I'll have the Istari Omlette, eggwhites only, whitebread toast, and a cup of milk."

"Chocolate or white?" asked Mayówyn as if she couldn't guess.

"White, skimmed, please," the wizard clarified.

"You're taking this 'The White' business kinda far, don't you think, Grandélf?" asked Aromagorn.

Mayówyn noted everything on her parchment pad, slopped their cups half-full of coffee whether they ordered it or not, and then swept off to the kitchen, where she paused before a small window and shouted, "Hey, Héomer! Gimme two Steward Coup d'grais, one hold the ooze, a Mow the Lawn, a Braize á Beefcake, and a Second-shift Shingle with a scrambled egg."

"All that you say is strange," said Héomer, from beneath his hairnet, "Yet you speak the truth, that is plain. Men of Yuban do not lie, and therefore are not easily deceived. But you have not told all. Will you not now speak more fully of your errand, so that I may judge what to do?"

Mayówyn cocked her head at him. "Ever since I got the upper-hand in the films you have been sulking around like a spoilt little boy. Isn't it enough that you get to be King of Yuban later?"

"No," pouted Héomer, "I didn't get to tell anyone I was the Third Marshal of the Riddermarket, Karóden stole all my best lines, and I don't even get to wear a crown to the Coronation Ceremony. It's not fair! Just because you're the only woman in Middle girth that isn't spoken for! That's discrimination, that is!"

Mayówyn rolled her eyes and walked away, saying, "I'm going on break, bro... keep an eye on the lunatics at table number 2 for me... I am going to go stand in the wind for a while..."


	49. Chapter 49 Destruction of Isencoaster

**The Destruction of Isencoaster **

Once the half-caffs were returned to their correct appearances, TeaTreebeard learned of them the works of Sacchineman, and his evil plans to take over all of Middle-girth and force the Free Peoples to watch his performance art. The tall ThermEnt began to foam violently, spilling frothed milk like a science fair experiment gone horribly wrong.

"Sacchrineman! A wizard should know better!" Cupping his hands around his mouth, he emitted a weird hooting whistle, like the blowing of breath over a bottle, only much louder. The MerryMocha and Drippin covered their ears as it was answered a hundred-hundred times from the forest around them. Ponderously, TeaTreebeard began to march, and behind him came many other ThermEnts, all of different colours and capacities, some filled with coffee, hot and sweet, and others sloshing bitter espresso or creamy latté. All fell in behind the great steaming mug, and together they began to sing:

_Tho Isencoaster be hot as a roaster  
We go, we go, we go to extremes   
To brew the beans and spill the tureen!  
To grind the grounds and tear it down!  
We will not eat... we will not sleep  
But fill the ring with java and cream!_

And so the ThermEnts descended upon Isencoaster, and Sacchrineman was overwhelmed as his karma caught up with him. The vast bowl of Isencoaster was filled with a great quantity of coffee, and the ThermEnts waded into the steaming liquid, sighing and sporting about with a beach-ball.

Sacchrineman closed the door against the fury of the storm of coffee and condiments outside his mighty fortress. He shot Grahma Burntongue a look of pure annoyance. "Did you call for a delivery? I am not signing for THIS!"


	50. Chapter 50 The REAL Isencoaster SwimTeam

_Abandon sleep, all ye who enter here! A bit of caffeinated irreverence with some half-caff chasers! Enjoy!_

**The REAL Isencoaster Swim Team**

When Grandélf, Aromagorn, Legolatté, Gemli and Boromocha, along with the Riders of Yuban, arrived at the ruin of Isencoaster, their eyes were met with a strange sight.

On the high wall of Isencoaster, reclining on beachchairs, were two small figures. They were dressed in loudly-coloured Bermuda shorts and had white war-paint smeared on their noses and cheeks. They wearing sunglasses and both had silver whistles on chain hung around their necks. One of them appeared to be asleep, lying in the shade of a sign that read "No Striding!"

The other creature spotted them where they had halted in amazement at the sight of a coffee-flooded Isencoaster, filled with Therments sporting about like yuppies at a hotel pool-party. He stood up and gave a blast his little whistle a shrill piercing note.

Then he said: "Welcome, my lords, to what used to be Isencoaster, but which is now TeaTreeBeard's Coffee-spa and Gift Shoppe. We are the lifeguards. MochaMerry son of Sarahlee is my name, and my companion, who, alas! is overcome with corpulence"- here he gave the other a kick in the pants- "is Drippin, son of Paladinner. The Lord Saccharineman is within; but at the moment, he is verbally abusing one Grahma Burntongue, or doubtless he would be here to harangue you himself."

The Hunters were then finally reunited with their two small companions, whom they had run so far to find, and they happily relieved them of whatever they had that was edible and took turns giving them noogies for getting orc-napped in the first place. The two half-caffs joyfully greeted Boromocha, whom they had thought dead. They even smiled as they paid back the copper-pieces that they owed him.

"You young rascals!" shouted Gemli the Dwarf happily, "You sugar-coated, nicotine-stained truant! A fine chase you led us on and here we you safe and sound... and tanned! Hammer and tongs! I am glad to see you whole and uneaten!"

"You speak for me also, Gemli," said Legolatté, "I wonder how they came by the sunglasses. Those are _kewl!_"

"Comes in handy for looking at elf-lords, that's for sure!" agreed Drippin, who gave the Elf an extra pair.

King Karóden laughed. "It cannot be doubted that we witness the reunion of dear friends! You must be the little folk of legends, that some among us call _'kurtàin-krawlúrz'_.

"Half-caffs, if you please, my Lord," said MochaMerry.

"You do not know your danger, Karóden," said Grandélf. "These half-caffs will sit on the edge of ruin and dunk donuts and swill cocoa until the End of All Things, if you encourage them with undue patience. Where is TeaTreeBeard, MochaMerry?"

The half-caff pointed toward the tower that rose from the center of the coffee-pool, where a diving board was being erected. Keeping their horses to the wading pool, they rode into the midst of the spa, to have a word with Sacchrineman.


	51. Chapter 51 The VoiceMail of Sachrineman

**The VoiceMail of Saurman**

_I warned you! This is a triple espresso mocha grandé with extra whipped cream and shot of creme d'menth. You may need therapy after this..._

They passed through the ruins and the wading pool, being splashed by sporting ThermEnts as they were cavorting and casually continuing to destroy any gobblings or horcs they found floundering in the lake of coffee they had made. Here and there, covered with whipped cream and wreckage, was a wilderness of tumbled rock, pitted with blackened holes, and dotted with posts and pillars leaning drunkenly this way and that. At the rim of the bowl there lay vast mounds and slopes of coffeebeans, like pebbles heaped by the hands of the sea. They followed the road, shallowly covered with lukewarm coffee, their horse's hooves splashing and churning the brown fluid.

Grandélf turned to his companions and said, "I must pay a farewell visit to Sacchrineman. Dangerous, and possibly embarrassing but it must be done. Those of you who wish may with me- but beware! And do not jest! This is not open-mike night."

"I will come," said Gemli. "I wish to see this mighty celebrity and learn if he truly looks like you."

"And how will you learn that, Master Dwarf?" said Grandélf. "Sacchrineman could look like me in your eyes, if it suits his purposes. He has an extensive make-up trailer and the most skilled technicians. Are you yet wise enough to detect all his counterfeits? Well, we shall see, perhaps. He may have stage fright showing himself before many different eyes together. Perhaps we can persuade him to come out."

"What's the danger?" asked Drippin. "Will he shoot at us, or pour fire out of the windows?"

"Worse. He may sing to us. An out-of-work dilettante is not safe to approach. Beware of his voice!"

They came now to the foot of the tower. It was black, and it had no colour. Dark was the stone, and it seemed to absorb light and did not throw it back. There was a great door high above the ground, and over it was a shuttered window, opening upon a balcony hedged with iron bars. Up to the threshold of the door mounted a flight of twenty-seven steps. It was the only entrance to the tower.

Grandélf climbed the stairs and beat upon the door with his staff. Then he saw the doorbell and pulled on the rope. A soft chiming sounded, rather gothic and fugue-like. For a moment there was no answer, then suddenly a voice spoke, low and melodious, its very sound an enchantment. "Welcome to Isencoaster. I am not home right now, but if you want to leave a message, just start talking..."

"Seems he isn't here, Grandélf," said Aromagorn. "We have reached his voicemail."

"I am willing to bet that he is here; he screens his callers." Grandélf rapped on the door again, shouting "Sacchrineman! I know you are in there! Come forth!"

"Well?" came the gentle question, that same voice now unstilted by recording, "Why must you disturb my meditation? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day? Who wants an autograph?"

They glanced up in surprise, for they had heard no sound of his coming. He stood at the rail, looking down upon them; and old man swathed in a great dressing gown, a make-up bib still tucked beneath his beard. The colour of the dressing gown was difficult to tell; it was beaded with sequins that changed as they moved their eyes or he stirred. His make-up was perfect and his hair slicked back.

"Come now, two of you at least I know by name. Gandgulp I know too well to have much hope that he seeks souvenirs here. But you, Karòden King, why have you not come before? I could have got you box seats! Shall we take council together and leave behind these lesser beings who cannot appreciate the Arts. I would that you become my patron, and I your personal entertainment package. What say you?" Karòden did not answer, but Héomer and MochaMerry and Drippin made rude noises, and Gemli and Legolatté were defacing the marquee displaying Sacchrineman's performance dates.

The artfully painted face of Sacchrineman underwent a hideous change. "Peons! You are incapable of appreciating my work! What is the house of Karo, but a pancake hall where corn syrup drips in the reek, and their brats waffle on the floor! Grahma told me you were not fit to sleep with pigs... to think I stood up for you and said that you were!" He stood up to his full height, aided by platform toe-shoes. "I know not why I have the patience to speak to you! Contact my agent!" He turned and left the balcony in a huff.

"Come back, Sacchrineman!" said Grandélf. To the amazement of the others, Sacchrineman obeyed. "I did not give you leave to go. You have become a fool, not a diva. You could still turn away from your folly and aid us. The master of the Black Café will cheat you. Join us, and we shall show you mercy."

Sacchrineman hesitated, as if considering Grandélf's proposal. "Can I have top billing?" he asked slyly.

"Fat chance, grandpa," muttered MochaMerry. Drippin snickered.

Hearing the half-caff's jest, Sacchrineman becomes angry. He leans on the rail, grinding his dentures and trying to think of something nasty to say.

Before he can speak, something falls from the upper window, passes close to Sacchrineman's hand, striking the rail with a shower of sparks, then bounces on the step at Grandélf's feet. It rolled down the stairs to come to a spinning stop at Drippin's toes.

Grandélf raised his hand as said in a loud clear voice, "Sacchrineman, your career is over!" and the marquee fell with a crash, and the light with Sacchrineman's name burned out, and his box office returns plummeted as if Rosie O'Donnell had offered to finance him. The has-been performer crawled back into his tower to whine and consider going into politics.

Drippin picked up the strange thing that had fallen beside him. It looked like a large crystal coffeebean, and it was dark and lit from within as if it had a glowing heart of fire. It felt heavy and warm in the half-caff's hands.

"Drop it, kiddo," said Grandélf, snatching the PalanTV from Drippin's hands. "I will take care of this. I don't want to see this turn up on eBay!"


	52. Chapter 52 The Stairs of Insanity

**NescaFrodo and the Stairs of Insanity**  
_With special recognition to_ **_The Princess Bride_**

After leaving Faramocha, the half-caff's found their guide again rather easily. Gulp'um was sitting in the road, waiting for them. Sanka and Gulp'um exchanged their usual greeting; death-threats and sarcasm. NescaFrodo intervened before blood was actually shed.

"Why can't we just get along?" asked NescaFrodo. Sanka and Gulp'um gnashed their teeth a little at each other behind his back. They then headed on toward the mountains ahead where a bank of fog or smoke hung, and a strange odor came wafting in the wind. It was not unlike burned olive oil.

After a while, NescaFrodo began to wish that Sanka and Gulp'up would start fighting again. They were driving him nutty. In an attempt to find peace between them, he had (foolishly) suggested that they play a game, and since Gulp'um was dislezic and Sanka was tired of NescaFrodo winning all the time at Highway Scrabble using triple-point Elvish words, they had chosen instead to play Rhymes. Now every time NescaFrodo spoke, each of his companions offered a phrase in response. NescaFrodo tried hard not to speak unnecessarily.

They walked through the gloom of night into the gloom of day. No sun rose that could pierce the noxious fog that had thickened as they neared the dark valley. NescaFrodo paused in the road and turned to Gulp'um.

"Do you know where we are?" he asked.

"The Morgul Bistro iss not far," answered Gulp'um.

"I hope they have a 'tater bar," said Sanka. Gulp'um hissed at Sanka.

NescaFrodo said to Sanka, "How much food do we have left?"

"Not much... um, my backpack is easier to heft," said Sanka after a moment. He smiled. 'That should stump the old slinker!' he thought.

Gulp'um leered at him. "We'll finds no more inside the cleft." Sanka stuck out his tongue at Gulp'um.

NescaFrodo sighed. This trip was just getting longer and longer. At least they weren't arguing anymore. "Which way do we go from here? Is that the opening to the Dead Restaurant, away over there beyond that black mass?"

"That is the opening to the ssecret pass," confirmed Gulp'um with a smirk at Sanka.

"I'd do anything for some chips and grilled bass," said Sanka, rubbing his stomach.

NescaFrodo hefted his backpack and began walking, rolling his eyes heavenward. We wondered, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, if he was going to get Optical Strain Syndrome from all the times he had rolled his eyes during this epic. Sanka and Gulp'um followed, stepping on each other's heels.

A long tilted valley, a deep gulf of shadow, ran back far into the mountains. Upon the further side, some way within the valley's arms, high on a rocky seat upon the black knees of Ephel Gúlash, stood the booths and buffet of the Morgul Bistro. All was dark about it, earth and sky, but it was lit with eerie green neon, advertising the Special of the Day, (or 'Sloppe d'jour' in the black speech). On a signpost beside the road, a board exclaimed,

**"Welcome to the Morgul Bistro, ****  
****Restaurant and Karaoke Bar! ****  
****No Skin, No Sinew, No Service!"**

Gulp'um whispered, trembling with terror, tugging at their cloaks, "This iss it! Follow uss, and be very, very quiet!"

"We don't want to start a riot," mumbled Sanka. NescaFrodo flicked his tufted ear with a finger, grinning a little in spite of himself.

But as they neared the dread restaurant, NescaFrodo's humour failed him. The coffee-ring became heavy on him, dragging him to the ground like a holiday fruitcake. The fumes of singed oil and overcooked pasta make his head dizzy.

They came to the bridge at last. Across the span, littered with olive pits and spoiled pepperoni rose the Bistro, and the thick fog of cooking saturated the air. Empty booths and tables stood here and there, with wilting flowers drooping on each next to a soggy menu. From where they stood, across the bridge they could see the dessert display, leaking an ill-smelling fog of Freon and stale chocolate.

NescaFrodo felt his senses reeling and his mind darkening. Then suddenly, as if some force were at work other than his own will, he began to totter forward, arms outstretched like the monster in a bad Frankenstein film.

Gulp'um had a mild heart attack, and Sanka ran forward and grabbed NescaFrodo and hauled him back, before he could place an order.

"Not that way!" said Gulp'um in a panicked squeal. There was movement in the restaurant, and several horc were peeking out of the kitchen door to discover what was making all the noise. "Now we musst climb! There iss the stairses! Up them we must go quickly; we hears some gobblings croaking!"

NescaFrodo raised his eyes, and then he tilted back his head, and still the stairs climbed before him, up, up, and up the mountain, as if they had been pained on the stone by M.C. Escher. He kept looking up and raising his eyes until he toppled right over onto his back, in the middle of the road.

"You have got to be joking!" NescaFrodo mumbled.

Gulp'um giggled in spite of his fear, his hands clasped tight over his mouth. "Masster makes a rhymeses!"

Sanka dragged NescaFrodo out of the road. The lights in the Bistro had begun to flicker ominously. He helped his master sit up.

NescaFrodo shook his head. "Gulp'um! Say you're not serious! Whoever made these stairs was crazy!"

Sanka squinted upward through puckered eyes, "Climbing them will be no daisy."

"I'll beat you to the top, 'cause you're fat and lazy," muttered Gulp'um.

"Enough! I'll climb, I'll climb! But I don't want to hear another rhyme!" NescaFrodo began to draw himself up the stairs.

In whispers that their master pretended not to hear, there came the two dreaded responses:

"Sheesh! It's not as if we committed a crime..."

"Smeagolatté thinks we best calls a truces for some time..."


	53. Chapter 53 Of Minas Teabag: VanillaCity

**Of Minas Teabag; Tales of the Vanilla City**

The remainder of the Fellowship of the Cup were riding with the King of Yuban as he returned with his people to their kingdom of Breadoras. Grandélf was riding his mighty horse, Snackfax, and around him the rest of the companions rode on their own steeds. The White Wizard was talking:

"The threat of Sacchrineman is thwarted, but now we must turn our faces toward the true danger that threatens Middle girth. In his vast cafe of darkness, Sour'on squats and plots and peeks out of the curtains, planning to take over all of Middle girth so that there is no fairer or finer coffee served anywhere, which does not bear his trademark label. He seeks to regain the One Coffee Ring; with that coffee-corrupting power he will grind all of the beans in Middle earth into a single great tureen of mediocre coffee, and charge outrageous prices for it!"

Aromagorn looked at the Wizard, then toward the reader sitting before their monitor sipping tepid coffee, then back at Grandélf, and he asked, "Who are you talking to?"

Grandélf shushed him, "Don't interrupt my monologue! Ah-hem! He will over-price his coffee and enslave all of Middle girth to his monopoly of weak, bitter chicory, if our friends NescaFrodo and Sanka do not succeed in destroying his CoffeeRing.

"I deem that the first coffee will be spilled in Minas Teabag, for that stronghold lies nearest to Mordonut. He will seek to destroy all his competition, and they have at all times opposed Sour'on's greedy ways."

Boromocha puffed out his chest in pride, splitting his chain mail hauberk down the seams. "Minas Teabag! At last, I shall return to the city of my people! Have you ever seen it, Aromagorn?"

Aromagorn said, "Actually, yes, I ..."

"Have you seen the white chalk roads that lead toward where she dwells beneath the white peaked mountains, rising like a many-layered white wedding cake into the sky...?"

"Yes," repeated Aromagorn, "I have been there..."

"Have you looked upon the white doors of great strength, and the winding roads up into the city between building of white stone, until they empty out into the open white court of the White Tree, before the halls of the Citadel?"

"Yes, I said I have..."

"And the white tower of Éclairion, poking into the sky like a spike of white pointy stone? Have you heard the call of silver trumpets calling you home to the white rooms and floors, ceilings, closets and niches?"

MochaMerry yawned, "Silver trumpets, eh?" he muttered under his breath to Drippin, "What, did they run out of white paint, then?"


	54. Chapter 54 Stealing AirTime

**The Palantir; Stealing Airtime**

MochaMerry knew that there was something bothering his young cousin Drippin, but he couldn't say what, exactly. Ever since they had arrived at Breadoras... indeed, ever since leaving Isencoaster, Drippin had been behaving in a most odd manner. He was constantly humming show tunes, and occasionally he would mutter an advertisement slogan in his restless sleep. MochaMerry was worried about him... if anything happened to the little git, older cousin NescaFrodo would be very disappointed in him.

So MochaMerry kept an eye on Drippin, never letting him out of sight for an instant. It was then that he noticed that Drippin seemed fixated on whatever Grandélf was doing, and constantly watched the wizard and the little round object he kept wrapped in a scarf. The three of them walked around like a big grey mother goose and her two curly-toed goslings.

On night after everyone was bedded down, MochaMerry got up quietly to help himself to a cup of coffee. Where the strong Yuban house-blend made everyone else wakeful and jittery, it relaxed MochaMerry. It wasn't as good as StarBrandybuck coffee, but it would do in a pinch. As he crept softly back to his bunk, he noticed that Drippin's bedroll was empty, and the young half-caff was missing.

MochaMerry searched everywhere, and finally found the naughty Tookas hunched over the crystal sphere that he had picked up at Isencoaster. Apparently, he had stolen it right out from under Grandélf's sleeping nose! What a burglar that lad would have made, thought MochaMerry.

"What are you doing, Drippin? Grandélf said not to look at that thing!"

Drippin's eyes were wide and round, and he didn't look at his cousin when he answered, "Just a moment... we're almost to a commercial break." Then the young half-caff suddenly let out a squeal and collapsed on the ground in convulsions.

MochaMerry cried out for help. "Grandélf! Come quick... Drippin is sick or something!"

The wizard woke and came swiftly to Drippin's side. He saw the crystal sphere, the PalanTV, and he threw a blanket over the flickering orb. "Fool of a Tookas! I told you not to look at that! Why don't those things have parental blocks?"

Drippin lay semi-conscious, muttering incoherently. Grandélf took his small hand gently in his big one and caressed his forehead. "Drippin Tookas, come back to the light!"

"Noooooo!" cried Drippin, covering his eyes and shaking.

"Look at me! What did you see in the PalanTV?" said Grandélf sternly.

Drippin was crying, but he coughed and struggled to get himself under control. "Reruns!" he sobbed.

"Alas! It is as I feared. This is a wicked and dangerous magical device. It shows the past, the present, and numerous subliminal advertisements aimed at taking over and subjugating young, weak minds."

"Wha-?" said MochaMerry.

"Syndicated Middle girth broadcasting. Sour'on is behind this, I am sure! He's been bouncing his broadcasts off of Isencoaster's antenna for Ages! What a horrible thing to have happened! Drippin, my lad, what else did you see? Tell me!"

"I... I was channel-surfing... just trying to find a cooking network or a food program, when some cranky old man in black robes with big shining white teeth came on and turned my programme to the GondoriaNews At Nine!"

"Really?" asked Boromocha, eavesdropping. "What was the leading story?"

Drippin gulped and said, "I dunno, something about an invasion of Corsairs in black ships coming up the River... and apparently some lady named Ioreth Stewart has been imprisoned for illegal use of information on insider trading."

"Oh no!" cried Legolatté, distraught, "Not Ms Stewart! How am I going to finish knitting my tea-cozies now?"

"Never mind that," said Grandélf crossly. "What else did you see, Drippin?"

Drippin began to tremble. "I saw... I saw... oh, the horror! A great big red eye, rimmed with fire and slit like a cat's, and he... he... no, I can't say!" the Half-caff covered his face and bawled.

Gently, Grandélf pried his fingers away and looked into his eyes, "What happened? Did he say anything to you?"

"He said he was changing the channel to... oooh, American Idol! That's when I screamed... I hate that programme!"

"I would have screamed, too," said MochaMerry, putting a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Have you heard that Asian guy sing? Brrrr!"

"Did you tell him anything about... you- know- who and the you- know- what?" asked Grandélf, holding his breath.

"No, of course not! All I said was, "Aaahhhhhhrrrrggghhhh!"

"Whew! We have had a close call, friends. But perhaps this mishap was fated and has turned in our favour. If I had looked into the PalanTV, I might have become addicted to soap-operas, or somehow revealed our position to the Enemy Eye. Good work, Drippin!"

"Thanks Grandélf! Does this mean I am not going to get into trouble for stealing from you?"

"Of course not. I am going to tan your tail for that! But I must go at once to Minas Teabag and see what is afoot. You must come with me, Drippin, so I can punish you later."

Grandélf set Drippin on Snackfast's back, preparing to ride away. MochaMerry stepped up and held out a small pouch to his friend. "Here, something for the road."

Drippin accepted the pouch. "The last of the Longbottom Beans?"

"I know you've run out," said MochaMerry, his hands trembling a little. "You drink too much coffee, Drippin."

"I drink too much? Heh, look who's got coffee hands!" The two half-caffs exchanged a handclasp, and then they were gone, Grandélf and Drippin, riding into the East.

"That was very touching," said Aromagorn, blotting his eyes on his sleeve. "You gave him the last of the bean... wait! You gave him the last of the beans? Why?"

"Relax, Styroamer! I gave him some of the last of the beans... and he won't be getting very much coffee out of them without this," and MochaMerry held up Grandélf's coffeegrinder.

"Who do you think taught that young Tookas to pick pockets?"


	55. Chapter 55 Princes of Coffee

**Java of the Ainur: Princes of Coffee**

Frënchroast was King of the Noldanish. His sons were Fëanoroama, Finratherbegolfin, and Finarflan; but the mother of Fëanoroama was Miriel Cerëal, whereas the mother of Finratherbegolfin and Finarflan was Indish of the Branyar. Apparently, Elvish divorce court was a lot simpler then, compared to nowadays in these fading times (heavy sarcasm).

Fëanoroma was the mightiest in skill of blarney and of brewing, more learned than his brothers in the arts of bean-curing; his spirit burned as a hot-plate. Finratherbegolfin was the most idle, gifted in putting, and wore the most bizarre trousers. Finarflan was the fairest, and the most adept at making soufflé; and afterwards he was a friend of the sons of Olgrainë, Lord of the Bagateleri, and had to wife Eärwench, the prawn-maiden of Alqualondë, Olgrainë's daughter.

The seven sons of Fëanoroama were Maedhroast the maitre'd; Maglite the bright, whose luminescence was seen far over land and sea; Celegourmet the short-order cook, and Caranthirsty the ever-dry; Curufonduë the cheesy, who inherited most of his father's skill at cookery; and the youngest twins who were named Cannon and Fodder, but were called Hamrod and Hamras.

The sons of Finratherbegolfin were Fingon Mignon, who was afterwards King of the Noldanish and small overpriced cuts of beef, and Sturgeon, lord of Mandolin; their sister was Aredhead, mercurial in temper, beautiful, tall and strong. She rode often in the company of the sons of Fëanoroama, her kin; but to none yet was her heart given.

The sons of Finarflan were Finrod Feleground, Oreobreath, Aspic and Eggnog; and these four were as close in friendship with the sons of Finratherbegolfin as though they were all brothers. A sister they had, Godivariel, most beautiful of all the house of Frënchroast; her hair was lit with gold as though it had caught in a mesh the radiance of Lauralynn, the sacred Tree with the Beans of Golden Hue; the chief love of her heart was chocolate.


	56. Chapter 56 Sushilob's Lair

**Sushilob's Lair **  
(_dangerously silly txt w/ music_)

It may indeed have been daytime now, as Gulp'um had said, but the half-caffs could see little difference, unless perhaps the heavy sky was less utterly black than before. It was way-past time for a coffeebreak, but so few of the precious beans did they have left to them that they were forced to ration themselves. Yet NescaFrodo felt, for all his lack of caffeine, strangely innervated, as if he had just drank a good stiff shot of espresso. With every step he took closer to Mordonut, the Coffee-Ring worked on him, giving him the jitters.

The mountain loomed now before them, a mighty shadow against a darker shadow. Sanka sniffed the air. "Ugh! What's that smell!" he said. "It's getting stronger and stronger. Did you forget to wash your feet, Mr. NescaFrodo?"

Presently they were under the shadow, and there in the midst of it they saw the opening of a cave. "This is the way in," said Gulp'um softly. "This is the entrance to the tunnel." He did not speak its name: Torchyerear Fungol, Sushilob's Lair and Karaoke Bar. Out of it came the stench and a strain of tinny music, as if played on a jukebox that had been repeatedly puked upon by someone drinking warm saké. 

NescaFrodo held his nose. "Is this the only way in, Sméagolatté"

"Yes, yesss," he answered. "Yess all ready! We must go this way now. Put on some shoeses."

At that moment the half-caffs realized there was a great pile of mismatched shoes, of every description and size. Right above it was a sign, old with paint peeling and nails rusted, bearing the legend: "No Shoes, No Service". Wordless and confused, the half-caffs complied.

"D'you mean to say you've been through this hole?" asked Sanka, wedging his feet into a Birkenstock the size of a small canoe. "Phew! But perhaps you don't mind bad smells!"

Gulp'um's eyes glinted. "He doesn't know what we minds, does he, delicious? No, he doesn't. But Sméagolatté can bear things. He has smelled worse. Have you ever been to a chili cookoff?"

"Gotcha," said Sanka. "But what makes this smell I wonder? It's like-- well, I wouldn't like to say. It's like a bus-full of basketball players took off all their sweatsocks and hid them in a locker for ten years with a boatload of seaweed."

"Well," said NescaFrodo, pinching his nose, "Sweatsocks or no, if this is the only way, we must take it."

Taking a deep breath they passed inside. It quickly become utterly dark, but soon they could make out that the walls and ceiling of the tunnel were decorated with a strange kind of party streamer, silver and thin, like sillystring. There were many opening to the left and right, but they stayed on the moth-eaten red carpet that led down the larger central passage. Soon they came to a threshold where Sméagolatté halted them.

"Nows they takes off their shoeses." Beyond the threshold was a filthy white carpet. A smaller pile of shoes lay against the wall, this time beneath a sigh that could barely be read in the weak light: "Please remove your shoes, weapons, and inedible accessories". The half-caff's shed their uncomfortable and smelly shoes, but when NescaFrodo laid aside Zinger, Sanka picked it up and concealed it beneath his cloak. He didn't trust that Gulp'um, and he did not like this place at all. 

They went on, deeper into the tunnel, and the darkness gave way to an unhealthy light. Strange decorations could be seen on the walls now, seaside scenes of cranes and mountains made of shell and cheap plastic, lit from within by flickering lights, and there also were woven tapestries of reed and cheesy statuettes of fat little men in poses of insane laughter or corpulent joviality. The strange music grew louder.

Suddenly they were halted by a great web woven across the opening, and the tendrils caught at them and held them fast; like fish in a net they were caught, except for Sméagolatté, who had hung back and disappeared into the darkness.

"It's a trap! I KNEW it!" complained Sanka, struggling against the clinging silk strands. "I tol-"

"If you say 'I told you so', I shall break free from this web and strangle you, Sanka," muttered NescaFrodo as he fought to free himself.

"Use this, sir," and Sanka managed to hand his master Zinger, which he had kept hidden. NescaFrodo cut the strings that held them, and together they raced through the sushi-bar, heading toward the rear exit.

They were caught in the center of the dancefloor by a sickly coloured greenish spotlight. They froze, and an evil voice hissed, "Sing for your supper!"

"I know what this is," whispered NescaFrodo, "This is Karaoke Night. If we sing well, we may escape yet. Can you sing tenor?"

"Yeah, I'd love to... tenor twelve miles away..." muttered Sanka.

NescaFrodo clapped him on the arm. "No worries, Sanka, just follow my cue." NescaFrodo cleared his throat and began to sing:

**Fifty Ways to Lose a Coffee-Ring **  
_tune: Fifty Ways by Paul Simon_

The problem is all inside your head, she said to me  
The answer is easy if you take it logically  
I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free  
There must be fifty ways to lose a Coffee-Ring

She said it's really not my hobbit to intrude   
For the more I hope my meaning won't be lost or misconstrued  
So I repeat myself, at the risk of sounding crude  
There must be fifty ways to lose a Coffee-Ring, fifty ways to lose a Coffee-Ring 

Just toss it in the crack, Jack, burn it in the flames, Dwane   
Don't keep it as a toy, Roy, just listen to me  
Let it fall without a fuss, Gus, don't need to discuss much  
Just drop it like a rock, Spock, and get yourself free

She said it grieves me so to see you in such pain  
I wish there was something I could do to make you smile again  
I said, I appreciate that, then would you please explain why you won't take this Ring from me?

She said, why don't we both just sleep on it tonight  
And I believe, in the morning you'll see Eärendil's light  
And then she kissed me and I realized she probably was right  
There must be fifty ways to lose a Coffee-Ring, fifty ways to lose a Coffee-Ring 

Just toss it in the crack, Jack, burn it in the flames, Dwane   
Don't keep it as a toy, Roy, just listen to me  
Let it fall without a fuss, Gus, don't need to discuss much  
Just drop it like a rock, Spock, and get yourself free

There was some scattered applause, from two or three pairs of hands. NescaFrodo bowed and stepped back to allow Sanka into the lime-light, and was promptly snatched up by a giant horrible monster and tied tight with a silk rope.

"I say, madam, could you stop spitting that stuff on me please?" he said before Sushilob took out a jeweled hairpin and jabbed him in the neck, putting him to sleep by the ancient method of acupuncture. She continued to wrap him in silk strands.

Sanka stands frozen with stagefright, but then when the music comes up, he begins to sing strongly:

**The Gardener **  
_tune: The Wanderer _

Oh well I'm the type of guy who wants to settle down  
Where pretty flowers grow, you know that I dig that ground  
I talk to 'em and I plant 'em 'cause to me no two're the same  
I weed 'em and I hoe 'em they don't even know my name  
They call me the gardener yeah the gardener  
I till around around around...

Oh well there's flora on my left and there's rosemary on my right  
And coffeebeans are the row with that I'll be hoe-ing tonight  
And when you ask me which one I love the best  
I say I'll stay with Rosie, but then I, too, will sail west  
'cause I'm the gardener yeah the gardener  
I till around around around...

Oh well, I roamed from the Shire   
I had to keep my vow  
'til we got there to the Fire  
With my master I saw the Tower fall, and I'm going home now

I'm the type of guy that likes to scatter seeds  
I don't stay in one place, I roam to where I needs  
And when I find myself a-missing my old friend  
I hop into my smial and I hug my wife and kids   
Yeah I'm the gardener yeah the gardener  
I till around around around...

Oh well I'm the type of guy who wants to settle down  
Where pretty flowers grow, you know that I dig that ground  
I talk to 'em and I plant 'em 'cause to me no two're the same  
I weed 'em and I hoe 'em they don't even know my name  
They call me the gardener yeah the gardener  
I till around around around...

Sanka noticed during his song that his master was being cocooned by a vast bloated horror, but he had never been able to sing onstage before, so he completed his set before leaping down and brandishing something in his fist that made Sushilob blink her many eyes at him and pause in her preparations for dinner of Half-caff sweetmeats.

"Drop the half-caff! That's right, back off, lady! This is a special gift from the Elves, that I got in Loriandadanish. The Lady Godivriel gave everyone some cool presents and all, but Lord Celebraun took me aside and gave me something a little more useful. Can you count to three?" Sanka pulled the pin on the Hand-grenade of Celebraun and tossed it toward Sushilob, grabbing his master in his new silk kimono and running for the rear exit.

There agelong she had dwelt, an evil thing in lycra-spandex. How Sushilob came there, flying from the ruin of the first Age, no tale tells, for out of the DarkRoast Years few tales have come. But still she was there, who was there before Sour'on, before the first bagel was boiled in Mordonut; and she served none but herself, drinking the coffee of Elves and Men, bloated and grown fat with endless Twinkies and Milk-Duds, weaving her webs of shadow, for all things were her food. Far and wide her lesser broods, ungrateful offspring of her miserable mates that she married and sued, spread from glen to glen, from the Ephel Gúlaush to the eastern hills, to the Red Lobster in Dol Guldur and the fastness of Milkywood. But none could rival her, Sushilob the Great, the last child of Punkoliant to trouble an unhappy world 

Already, years before, Gulp'um had beheld her, Sméagollatté who shared her hunger for raw fish, in days past he had bowed and worshiped her, and the darkness of her evil will walked through all the way of his weariness beside him, cutting him off from light and regret, and preventing him from getting a really good tan. And he had promised to bring her new clients. But her lust was not his lust. Little she knew of or cared for towers, or rings, or anything devised by mind or hand, except a really good foot-massager. She only desired Death for all others, mind and body, and for herself a glut of life, alone, swollen till the support stockings could no longer hold her up and her muumuu of darkness could not contain her.

She sat looking at the little spinning green thing, like a tiny pineapple made of metal, and then there was a flash like a small sun... 

Outside, Sanka cut NescaFrodo free of the sticky silk webs, waking him up with a stout cup of instant coffee. "If we ever get out of Mordonut alive," NescaFrodo said kindly, clasping his friend on the shoulder, "I will let you say 'I told you so' until my ears fall off!"

Sanka beamed. 'Thanks, Mr. NescaFrodo! You know, that was a pretty interesting song you sang. Have you ever considered a solo career?"

"You're not getting out of this that easy, Sanka! Remember, you promised Gandgulp you'd stay with me!"

"Oh, not that, sir! I was thinking that you should try singing solo... so low I can't hear you!"

"Very funny, Sanka! You know, you weren't the only one to whom Celebraun slipped a secret weapon..."

"You wouldn't... ai! Mr. NescaFrodo! I'm just kidding!" the two half-caffs, giddy from their recent escape and audition, ran on into the Black Land, heedless of the volume of their giggling, toward the hidden eyes that watched.


	57. Chapter 57 Java Book of Lost Receipies

**From the Cafè of the Valar: The Book of Lost Recipes**

Lórienphine dwelt far away, and his cafè was great and dimly lit and had large loveseats and lazy-elf chairs. The place of his dwelling he called Muumuuland, which Aulattë made of coffee beans gathered beyond Arvalin upon the Shadowy Seas, stuffed into colour-coordinated casings. 'Twas set in the South by the feet of the Mountains of Valinor upon the confines of the realm, but its loveseats and beanbag chairs sprawled marvelously about, scattered nigh to the feet of the Tree That Bore Beans of Silver, whose shining lit them strangely. The cafè was full of labyrinths and mazes, for Javanna had given Lórienphine great floorplans (drawn by her husband Aulattë) but did not show him how to unfold the blueprints, and so the cafè bent upon itself in strange and avanté guarde ways, (which would make Mr. M.C. Escher's head spin with jealousy).

There grew a wealth of tea trees and salad-greens, and incense burned there that exuded drowsy odors in the dusk. Glowworms crept about their borders and Vardecaf had set strobe-lights within their depths for the pleasure of Lórienphine, but his groupies sang wonderfully in these gardens and the scent of patchouli and the songs of sleepy, spinning deadheads filled them with great loveliness. There too grew the poppies glowing redly in the dusk, and those the Gods called _opëyumm_ the flowers of sleep -- and Lórienphine used them much in his enchantments to counteract the wakeful rush of caffeine from the coffee, (and he used it much in his recipes for brownies, and in his cologne, toothpaste, and applesauce).

Amidmost of those pleasances was set within a ring of dairy farms towering high rose that deep vat of Creme for the Tree That Bore Beans of Silver. There it lay in a bed of pearls, and its surface unbroken was shot with foam, and the clouds of milk lay on it, and the Mountains of Valinor could see their faces mirrored there, like a 'Got Milk' commercial. Lórienphine gazing upon it in his laconic trance saw many visions of mystery pass across its face, and that he suffered never to be stirred from watching his programmes save when Silmococoa came noiselessly with a silver urn to draw a draught of its shimmering dairy, and fared softly thence to whiten the beans of Silpion ere the coffee grew too strong. No other disturbance did he suffer, for he was a watcher of soap operas, which the Elves called _Milquetoast_.


	58. Chapter 58 Master Beanbag

**Master Beanbag**

Grandélf took Drippin and was gone, and the thudding hoofs of Snackfast were lost in the night. MochaMerry came back to where his companions were waiting. They were ready to ride, for King Karóden had declared that all were bound back to Breadoras, to call a muster of the men of Yuban, and from there to ride on the Minas Teabag and war. Aromagorn waited beside _Struedel,_ his faithful cinnamount; nearby were Gemli and Legolatté with their horse _Arid_, who, even beneath the combined weight of Elf and Dwarf, never seemed to break a sweat. Boromocha had borrowed a horse from the king, a honey-and-phyllo coloured stallion named _Baklava_. All except Arid were saddled and ready. Legolatté refused to use such equipment, instead affixing himself and the horse-wary Dwarf in place with a wide strip of Velcro.

MochaMerry handed Aromagorn his pack and allowed the man to lift him into Strudel's saddle. He was a depressed hobbit; his best friend was gone into the night with a Wizard, his cousin NescaFrodo hundreds of miles away, labouring through a horrible land... if he were even still alive, and now MochaMerry himself had to ride through the night listening to Boromocha and Aromagorn continue to argue about city government practices through the 2nd and 3rd Ages of the Sun. He had offered to walk to Breadoras, but they had gently refused him.

"The King of Yuban expects to visit with you on the subjects of nicotine and coffeemate. You must ride with us, at least as far as Breadoras," they had said.

"And then?" MochaMerry had asked. "I won't be left behind, though I could want for a new afterdinner conversation. I have not been much use yet... except for talking the ThermEnts into attacking and destroying Isencoaster, and helping to distract the horcs so NescaFrodo and Sanka could escape..."

"A diversion," said Legolatté, straight-faced. Gemli swatted him between the shoulder blades.

"... yeah, and not to mention all the times I stood watch for you jokers out-of-turn so you could have your little midnight monologues... you owe me! I do not want to be laid aside, like baggage that has broken open during the layover flight, and all your fucia underwear are hanging out for all the airport to see, so that even the customs checkers are giggling. Though, of course, the King did say that he wants me to come to Breadoras and make him some Shire Coffee."

"Yes," said Aromagorn, "It is true that you have been of much use to the Quest, MochaMerry, but I believe that your path lies now with the King. My own road is dark to me; an hour long awaited draws near, and yet that I cannot see how I will come to Minas Teabag."

"You could probably see better if you took off those sunglasses... sunset was an hour ago," Boromocha said. "But I agree with the usurper, I mean... Isillydur's heir; your road, MochaMerry, lies with the King of Yuban.

"I, myself, will ride into the dark ways with you, Aromagorn. You will have much need of my strength on that road. Anyway, if I have to spend another evening watching Héomer polish his helmet, I am going to go stark raving!"

"I also will ride with you, Aromagorn," announced Legolatté. "Me, too, I guess," quipped Gemli. "How do you get this stuff to come loose...?" _**ZZZZiP!**_ "Ye-Ouch! Hey! watch the hair, toy-maker!"

MochaMerry was loath to part with his companions, especially now that Drippin was gone; he missed his undominatable cheerfulness. But on the other hand, this was an opportunity that might not come again. He feigned resistance, offering 'bambi eyes' to Aromagorn and pleading to stay with him, all the while planning his next move.

They rode all night and reached Helman's Dip in the grey morning. MochaMerry lay down where he was set and slept until he was roused by Legolatté and Gemli. "The coffee is hot," said Legolatté. "All others are up and doing. Come Master Sluggard, and get some danish before they are all consumed!"

"There was a battle here three nights ago," said Gemli, "and here Legolatté and I played a game that I won only by a single horc! Come and see how it was... and the cafés, Merry, cafés of wonder! Shall we visit them now, Legolatté? You promised..."

"Nay, there is no time," said the Elf. "Do not spoil the luncheon with haste! I have given you my word to return hither with you, if a day of peace and freedom comes again, and have a picnic and go spelunking. But for now, let us eat and be on our way."

MochaMerry yawned. "Where is Styroamer?" he asked.

"Up in the bistro," answered Gemli. "Some of his kindred have come in the early morning, Dúnadudes from the North, and they take council and donuts together. Stout and straight do they drink their coffee, and the Riders of Yuban look almost like boyscouts beside them, for they are grim and ornery as marines, and silent."

"But even as Aromagorn they are courteous when they break their silence," said Legolatté. "And have you marked the brethren Elladum and Elrodee? They are less tiresome in their garb and diet, and they are fair and gallant as Elven-Lords; and that is not to be wondered at in the sons of Elground of Rivendell Perk."

"It is to be wondered how they manage to drink so much coffee and not have shaky hands," commented Boromocha, coming up behind. "Yet they will come in handy when we cross the mountains and come to my City."

"Why have they come?" asked MochaMerry, perking up after his first cup of java.

"Aromagorn wished for them to come, and Godivariel sent a message," said Gemli. At the mention of that Lady's name, he had a dreamy look on his face, and he toyed with his plaited hair, smiling fondly. "There's one Lady that knows how to braid a beard! Legolatté, why did we not think to ask for some of our kindred to come and help with this fight?"

Legolatté stood before the gate and turned his bright eyes away north and east, and his fair face was troubled. "I do not think that any would come," he said sadly. "They have no need to ride for coffee and bagels; already the franchise war marches on their own bagatelles."

The King of Yuban soon called for them, and for MochaMerry in especial. He set the half-caff in a seat beside him, and they spent a pleasant hour discussing the virtues of nutmeg with cappuccino, and MochaMerry showed the kindly old man the proper way to clean a pipe.

"This is not how I would have us spend our leisure, but needs be we ride for wars, and there is no time to linger in the Golden Hall of Breadoras. We will ride soon, and you shall ride with me."

"May I?" said MochaMerry, and he was surprised and delighted. This was going better than he had planned. "That would be splendid! I have been meaning to talk to you about your tactics in war and field attack. Legolatté and Gemli filled me in on the fight here in Helmund's Dip. You did well, but you could have utilized your cavalry better, I think. Have you ever considered a flanking maneuver, rather than the defensive tactic?"

King Karóden frowned, but it faded slowly into a smile. "I did not know that half-caffs studied the arts of war."

"We don't, as a rule," said MochaMerry, casually reaching into his backpack and producing a map and a pointer, a compass and a ruler. "I have acquired a taste for it in my travels, you might say. Plus, I am a huge Richard Sharpe fan, and I have read all of Cornwell's books..." he said as he unrolled the parchment.

The map was of Minas Teabag, detailed down to the bark on the White Tree, and covered with little arrows, circles and notes. "If you don't mind, may I ask how you were planning to break the siege of Minas Teabag?"

"We shall ride down and slaughter the horcs to the last imp!" announced Karóden, to the cheers of the men listening.

MochaMerry smiled indulgently. "An excellent plan, but a flawed one. This is what you should do..." and he pointed and measured and talked, and as the little half-caff spoke, the King's grin got bigger and bigger.

"It just might work..." he was muttering, looking at the paper now covered further with charcoal sketches and raspberry jam, when Aromagorn, Gemli, Legolatté, and Boromocha appeared. MochaMerry swiftly retrieved the map and rolled it up, winking broadly at Karóden and making a _'shhh'_ finger-to-his-lips gesture.

"I am troubled of mind, my lord," Aromagorn said. "I have heard strange words and laboured long in thought, and now I fear that I must change my purpose, and take new council for me and my men."

"Oh, that's a pity," said Karóden, tapping his chin with MochaMerry's pointer. "But as you will, Lord Aromagorn. You own council you will take, no doubt. This parting grieves me, and my strength is lessened for it, but then again, there will be more coffee for us if you take another path. Whither goest thou?"

"I will seek the short-cut through the spooky mountain, as my Lord Elground has advised me."

'Alas, Aromagorn my friend," cried Héomer. "I had hoped that we should ride to war together, and that you would introduce me to some of those handmaidens of Arwenchel's you spoke of; but if you seek the spooky short-cut, then our parting has come!"

"Yet I will take that path, nonetheless, but I say to you, Héomer, that in battle we may yet drink coffee together, though all the Hostess twinkies in Mordonut should lie between."

Héomer smiled, "Mmm_Mmm_... twinkies!"

"Goodbye!" said MochaMerry, hustling them out toward their waiting horses. The King followed, for the hour had come when he had ordered his own departure. He clutched the scrolled map to his chest like a precious thing, then waved at Aromagorn before spurring his horse onward. MochaMerry rode beside him on a small white pony (which was actually a large, bleached Irish wolfhound) that matched his stature, named _Subwaë._

Aromagorn watched them ride away, shading his eyes from the clouds of dust. "There go three that I love, and the smallest not the least. Nothing funny... I just like them, alright!"

Riding next to Karóden, MochaMerry allowed himself to grin broadly. Finally, he was unsaddled of the endless bickering and ego-matches. He would miss them, he knew, but he had faith that they would all meet in Minas Teabag. He had the perfect plan.

"You shall be my chief General of Tactics, MochaMerry of the Shire!" Karóden was saying. He would have ordered fine armour and arm for the half-caff, but MochaMerry refused carefully.

"Them men would not take orders from a half-caff, my lord, however beloved of their king he might be," MochaMerry said. "Let it be known that I am your esquire, rather, and then you can keep me close and take all the credit. Sound good?"

"Aye, but you shall find a great reward in this, my friend. And tiny Subwaë cannot bear you to war, for many miles of galloping lay between Breadoras and Minas Teabag."

MochaMerry looked around, and with his sharp eyes he noted the King's niece Mayówyn, who had disguised herself as a Man and followed in the King's riding, calling herself Poúpon the Grey. He kept this knowledge to himself, still making his plans. "I will ride with that one, with your leave, sire. He is slight of build and has a comfortable-looking lap. Thus I will come to Minas Teabag and we will spring our trap on Sour'on's multitudes. They will never know what hit 'em!" And so it was agreed.

As they rode on, MochaMerry laugh out-loud. To himself, he said, 'Left behind like baggage indeed! Someone had to run this dog-and-pony show!' He reached and retrieved his travelmug from the cup holder built into Subwaë's saddle-horn. He glanced over at Karóden, suddenly swept with genuine affection for the old fellow.

"Like a father-replacement figure you shall be to me," the half-caff said.

"For a while," was the wise old King's response.


	59. Chapter 59 Drippin on theWhite City

**Drippin on the White City **

Drippin woke to the sound of voices and the rattle of teaspoons on saucers. Another day of hiding and a night of journeying had passed, and the half-caff was beginning to think that Snackfast, Grandélf's horse, was trying to saw him in half using its backbone. Drippin blinked sleep out of his eyes and looked around.

Many men stood in their path, behind them rose a great wall of graham-cracker and shortbread, mortared with marshmallow creme and divinity. Torches and hurricane lanterns glowed dully here and there in the fog. Grandélf was speaking to the men that barred his way, and as he listened Drippin became aware that he himself was being discussed.

"Yea, truly, we know you, _Milkeeway_," said the leader of the men, using Grandélf's Elvish moniker, "And you know the pass-words and the secret handshake and are free to go forward. But we do not know your companion. What is he? Is he one of those little fellows that lives in trees and bakes cookies? I just love those Grasshoppers! If not, you should know then that we need no strangers in this land at this time, unless they be mighty men of valour who can wield a spatula like Jackie Chan!"

"I will vouch for him before the seat of Dentynethor," said Grandélf. "And as for his valour, that cannot be measured by his résumé. He has passed through more kitchens and cafés than you have, Idjit, though you be twice his height; and he comes now from the discombobulation of Isencoaster, of which he bears anecdotes, and great weariness in on him, or I would wake him up. His name is Drippin, a very valiant man, but not a morning person."

"Man?" said Idjit dubiously, and the others snickered.

"Man!" cried Drippin, now thoroughly roused. "Man! I could use a cup of coffee! But indeed not a Man am I! I am a half-caff and no more valiant than I am a nickel-plated waffle iron! _Mmmm_... waffles... Anyway, do not let Grandélf deceive you!"

"Many a doer of great deeds might say no more," said Idjit. "Are you the half-caff of which the prophecy spoke? Do you bring sugar and doom to Minas Teabag? Can you get me Elijah Wood's autograph?"

"Nay," said Grandélf, "he is not the one spoken of, yet one of his kindred. I'll trade you an autographed EJW for a candid lithograph of Eowyn wind-bathing."

"Done!" Therefollowed a furious swapping of paraphernalia.

Drippin held his head proudly, looking the man squarely in the navel. "I journeyed with that one of whom the riddle spoke and with Boromocha of your city, and he saved me in the snows of the North and at last was slain defending me from many foes."

"Slain? This is distressing tidings! Alas! that my Boromocha action-figure auctions will increase in value!" wept Idjit.

"Do not weep, good man," said Grandélf, "He's feeling a lot better. Boromocha will return to Minas Teabag, unless he kacks himself crossing the lands from Breadoras. He comes behind with the one who will become King... oops!" Grandélf blushed, "I mean... he comes behind with one who is Ben Kingsley!"

Drippin rolled his eyes at Grandélf. "Now look who's spilling the beans!"

"This much has already been guessed," said Idjit. "There have been strange portents here of late. The sun has disappeared and reappeared in the sky, a cow has given birth to a crocodile, and a mime has spoken. But pass on now quickly! For the Lord of Minas Teabag will be eager to have new persons to browbeat and with whom to discuss dental hygiene. Farewell!"

"Ciao," answered Grandélf, and he placed Drippin on Snackfast and sat behind him, and they rode on through the fields of Pelennor toward the gleaming city in the distance, Minas Teabag.

Drippin gazed in wonder at the vast walls of the city, white as refined sugar, that rose up, layer above layer, like a giant vanilla torté, blushing in the dawn; and suddenly the sun climbed over the eastern shadow and sent forth a shaft that smote the face of the City. Then Drippin cried aloud, and groped for his sunglasses, for the Tower of Éclairs, standing high within the topmost wall, shone out against the sky, glimmering like a spike of italian ice, tall and fair and sweet, and its pinnacle glittered as if it were wrought of crystals; and white banners broke and fluttered from the battlements, advertising toothpastes and personal injury-claims lawyers. From high and far away, Drippin heard the clear ringing of silver trumpets.

Drippin whistled. "It sure is a big white City, Grandélf," he said.

They came to a courtyard of stone, and in it was a tree. Drippin gave it a wide berth; he had had all the adventures with weird trees he cared for, thank you very much. On the steps that led to the throne of the Kings, Grandélf caught Drippin's arm and called a huddle.

"Be careful of your words, Master Drippin! This is no time for half-caff pertness. Karóden is a kindly old man. Dentynethor is of another sort, proud, subtle and a bit off his rocker. He will speak most to you, and question you much, since he likes to pick on people smaller than himself. He will think that it is easier to learn what he wishes from you rather than me. Do not tell him more that you need, and leave quiet the matter of the C-o-f-f-e-e-R-i-n-g. I will deal with that topic in due time. Don't mention NescaFrodo at all. And say nothing of Aromagorn returning and becoming King. Keep silent on the topic of Godivariel's infatuation with Dwarves, and Celeborn's 'little problem'... in fact, I have an excellent idea..." and he tore a strip from the hem of his white robes and gagged Drippin with it. "It probably won't work, but it's worth a shot," muttered the Wizard.

Drippin gave him a very dirty look.


	60. Chapter 60 Bre'r Frodo & the Anatar Baby

_**Note from the Author:** I realized after I was more than half finished with this that this particular story was covered in Bored Of The Rings, but I finished it anyhow, cause with parody, there is no such thing as 'original', is there? Enjoy!_

**Bre'r Frodo and the Annatar-baby**

The half-caffs hurried through the pass of Torchyerear Fungol, and found themselves in Mordonut at last.

Mordonut-- the stronghold of Sour'on, Lord of the Coffee. All that they could see was desolate and dead, a vast open place it was; bordered by the Ephel Gúlaush on the west and the Ethel Lucy on the north. Within lay the dessert lands of Gorgermouth, where teaming hoards of bloated, pasty-skinned horcs and gobblings crowded, devouring coffee and stale donuts supplied by their Dark Lord. No cream, no sugar, no doilies did they employ; no pleasure did they take in the drink, either, for it was cold and bitter as the heart of a frustrated god.

NescaFrodo and Sanka had not gone far into that land when they were suddenly surrounded by horcs and gobblings of the most disagreeable kind. Two came forward and grabbed the hapless half-caffs. Their names were Skankhat and Garbajz.

They seized the half-caffs and poked and prodded them with their tarnished teaspoons. Cruelly, they took away Zinger, Sam's pack with the remainder of their Instant Elvish Coffee, and NescaFrodo's thermal underwear, a gift from his uncle Bilbean that the old half-caff had gotten from the King of the Dwarves long ago. A great fire was built, and a vast pot of water put to boil, for they planed to stew this nice brace of half-caff and eat them; a nice change from mouldy SaraLee teacakes!

"How'd ya like that, my little morsels?" leered Skankhat, pinching NescaFrodo on his plump little cheek, "We're gonna stew you with dumplings and eat you both!"

Sanka was trembling with terror, but NescaFrodo sighed of relief, "Whew! Is that all? Well, then, let's get on with it!"

NescaFrodo's lack of fear and nonchalance puzzled the not-to-bright horcs. "Aren't you afraid?" asked Garbajz. "Terrified? We are going to skin you and grill your toes! We're going to grind you up and bake bread with your bones! We're gonna..."

"Stop it, Garbajz! Yer makin' me hungry!" complained Skankhat.

NescaFrodo shook his head, his black curls bouncing. He said, "Oh, no, not at all! This is fine!" He began to baste himself in cheap barbeque sauce. "I was afraid that you were going to make us go to that big fiery mountain over there," and he waved casually toward Mt Cocoabrewin, the Cup of Doom, which was belching burnt brownsugar syrup into the air at that moment. NescaFrodo shuddered looking at it, then said merrily, "Do you like white or dark meat?"

"Wait a minute!" said Garbajz, scratching his head with his fork, "You ain't afraid of being eaten? Tortured? Portrayed as a caricature in a political cartoon?"

"Nope!" replied NescaFrodo, "I can't think of anything I am more afraid of than being made to go to the fiery mountain, and worse than that, to go alone with just my companion Sanka (he snores, you know). That's the most horrible, despicable thing that you could do to me, except..." and here the half-caff seemed to blanche, and he whispered, "except to be forced to appear in an episode of Hardcopy between Rush Limbaugh and Rosie O'Donnell!"

Skankhat's eyes bulged and he took a step back in horror, "Hey! we may be horcs, but even we have some limits to our cruelty!"

Garbajz was staring into space then slowly a strange expression crossed his face. He was having a thought, and it was his first, and it was painful. "Hey! I know what we could do! We could make them go to the fiery mountain! Haw haw haw!"

NescaFrodo wailed, "Noooo! Not that!..." he discretely gathered their things, handing them to Sanka, along with everything else he could lay his sticky little fingers on. "I am begging you, no!"

"Awww, come on, Garbajz!" Skankhat's rheumy eyes grew a little misty, "Have pity on the poor little blighters! Let's just eat them and be nice, just this once?"

"No way! If word got out, our reputations would be ruined! All right, you sniveling little weasels... start walking! And don't stop until you get to that fiery mountain!

"But first, we're going to throw you into that briar patch yonder, just because it is in the Book, and the reader is expecting it!"

So the two horcs pick up NescaFrodo and Sanka and toss them into a thick patch of briars, where they land quite miraculously unscathed.

"Mr NescaFrodo, thanks!" breathed Sanka, "You are so wise! I thought we were dead and cooked! How clever of you to pretend that you were afraid of the mountain!"

NescaFrodo shuddered. "Who was pretending?"


	61. Chapter 61 Steward of Gondaroma

**The Steward of Gondaroma**

Drippin and Grandélf stood before the entrance of the Citadel. Grandélf knocked on the door. It opened, but no one could be seen to open it. Drippin looked into a great hall. It was lit by deep windows in the wide aisles at either side, beyond the rows of tall pillars that upheld the roof. Monoliths of black marble, they rose to great capitals carved in many strange figures of beans and tea-leaves; and far above in the shadow the wide vaulting gleamed with dull gold, inset with flowing traceries of many colours, all depicting celebrities smiling with their very favourite product that they are so happy to be paid to pretend to like.

Drippin was in awe, and he stayed close to Grandélf's side. At the far end of the hall, upon a dais of many steps was set a high throne. At the food of the dais, upon the lowest step, which was broad and deep, there was a stone chair, black and unadorned, and on it sat an old man gazing at his lap. In his hand was a small device of black with golden buttons. He did not look up. Solemnly they paced the long floor toward him, until they stood three paces from his footstool. Then Grandélf spoke.

"Hail, Lord and Steward of Minas Teabag, Dentynethor son of Éclair! I have brought counsel and creamer to go with thy dark coffee!"

Then the old man looked up. Drippin saw his carven face with its proud jaw and teeth like ivory, and he knew that this was the man he had seen in the PalanTV on that fateful night. He tugged on Grandélf's robe.

"Mmffffmf!" he said through his gag.

"Hush," whispered Grandélf.

The old man spoke, "Dark indeed is my coffee, and at such times you are wont to come, Milkeeway. But though all the signs forebode that the Last Tea-Time of Gondaroma is drawing nigh, less now to me is that darkness than my own darkness. It has been told to me that you bring with you one who saw my son die. Is this he?"

"It is," said Grandélf, "One of the twain. The other is with Karóden of Yuban and may come hereafter. Half-caffs they are, as you see, yet this is not he of whom the omens spoke. But your son is not..."

"Yet a half-caff still," interrupted Dentynethor grimly, "and little love do I bear the name, since that accursed pre-view came to trouble our prime-time viewing and drew away my son on the wild goose-chase to his death. My Boromocha! Now we have need of you... no one else can fix the reception as did you! Faramocha should have gone in his stead!"

"He would have gone," said Grandélf. "Be not unjust in your grief. Boromocha claimed the errand and would not suffer any other to have it. He was a masterful man, and one to take what he desired, even the last piece of fudge from the box, and he never made more coffee when he drank the last cup. I journeyed far with him and learned much of his mood. But you speak of his death. Have you not heard..."

"I have received this," Dentynethor cut in, and laying down his remote control he lifted from his lap the thing that he had been gazing at. In each hand he held up one half of a great ivory toothbrush that had been cloven down the middle: with the engraving 'To Boromocha on his twenty-first birthday... love, Daddythor' wrought in silver on the handle. "Only by passing it to his own son... or death... could have parted this from him, and he was without an heir."

Drippin chewed through his gag and cried, "That is the toothbrush that Boromocha always used!"

"Verily," said Dentynethor. "And in my turn I used it, and so did each eldest son of our house, far back into the vanished years before the failing of the kings. It was found floating on the River, and my men brought it to me. It will brush no more stewards' molars." He paused and looked at Drippin with his gleaming black eyes and shining teeth. "What say you to that, Half-caff?"

"Gr-_**oss!**_ You used the _same_ toothbrush?" Grandélf nudged Drippin with his elbow and flapped his eyebrows at him. Drippin hung his head, trying to hide his smile.

Dentynethor said, "You say you were with him? Tell me more! How is it that you survived and he did not, so mighty a man as he was. Tell me... when he died, was he wearing clean underwear?"

Drippin flushed with embarrassment, then glanced at Grandélf. The wizard shrugged and then nodded slightly. Drippin answered, "My lord, I know not. But the mightiest man may be slain with but one arrow, and Boromocha was pierced by many. When last I saw him he sank beside a tree and plucked a black feathered shaft from his side, and said 'Is that all you got, girly-orc? You shoot arrows like my sister!' I then swooned and was made captive. I saw him no more, until he showed up at..."

"Alas!" wailed Dentynethor, clutching the pieces of the family toothbrush that was precious to him, "He is gone to the long homes of our forefathers! He has joined the Choir Invisible! He has run down the curtain and now he's pushing up daisies! This is the toothbrush of a dead hero!" Dentynethor sobbed loudly.

Drippin and Grandélf both lost it then. Together they shouted, "HE'S NOT DEAD! BOROMOCHA IS ALIVE!"

"Alive? My son is ... alive? Oh... oh, dear!" Amazingly, Dentynethor did not looked relieved. Rather he looked annoyed. "Not dead, is he? Did I not teach him that there is no such thing as a living hero? He _never_ listens to me.. no! And that no-good brother of his.. both of them are in on this, I know it! Ruining my dramatic monologue and costing me an Oscar... oh, if I _ever_ get my hands on either of those brats...they never remember to floss... I'm sure they aren't**my** children..." Dentynethor continued to rave as Drippin and Grandélf slowly backed out of the hall, locking the door soundly behind them and nailing it shut.

"So that's the Steward of Gondaroma, eh, Grandélf?" said Drippin, shaking his head. "He's crazier than a monkey with a gun! What do we do now?"

The Wizard was piling stone benches against the door to barricade it soundly. "Now we hope. We hope that Aromagorn and the others get here as fast as they can, and we also hope that NescaFrodo accomplishes his deed and brings all this preparation for war to naught.

"For we are in for war, my good half-caff... a war of Cafés. It will be fought here, in this land and in this City, very soon. The menu is set, the prices are increasing, and if we don't win this fight we will all be washing dishes for Sour'on until we are old and grey."

Drippin looked at Grandélf in his long beard and grey robe that he wore over his snazzy white garments.

The Wizard sighed. Hobbits could be so literal sometimes. "Until _you _are old and grey, too, rather... if I let you live that long, whelp!" Grandélf laughed then, and tousled Drippin's hair, "Come on, let's go find a cup of coffee."


	62. Chapter 62 Goings on in Gondaroma

**Goings-on In Gondaroma**

The Lord Steward Dentynethor had recalled Grandélf and Drippin to his court after he had taken his morning cup of coffee. He was noticeably more hospitable, yet to the Wizard's eye, appeared also more calculating and reserved, as if he knew something important that he was waiting for the perfect moment to spring on them.

And he was not alone in his chamber; beside him stood a Man that Drippin had not yet met. The half-caff stared in wonder, for this strange man bore a remarkable resemblance to Boromocha, except that his face was smeared with green and black paint and there were leafy branches stuck through his hair and covering his armour.

"This is Faramocha, my youngest son," said Dentynethor without pride, gesturing to the strange man.

_"Dad!"_ hissed the man. He stood very still and muttered out of the side of his mouth, _"I am in disguise!"_

Dentynethor rolled his eyes, "Sorry... this is my, er... houseplant..."

Faramocha sighed in exasperation, "I am a _shrubbery!_"

"Right! My... er, shrubbery... and it has returned to Minas Teabag from Isillyin to report that the armies of Mordonut are marching toward our fair Café, bent on drinking all of our coffee and consuming all our jellyrolls, leaving behind only those nasty dry cake donuts with the multicoloured sprinkles that nobody eats."

Faramocha suddenly noticed Drippin standing next to Grandélf. "Oh! Lookie! Another half-pint creamer! Do you know a couple of chaps called NescaFrodo and Sanka?" He seemed to forget his camouflage and came forward, squatting down in front of Drippin and prodded his round tummy with a forefinger. "Isn't he cute? Can I have one, Dad?"

Drippin slapped his hand away, blushing. "We prefer to be called 'Half-caffs', sir, if you don't mind. And do you mean to say you have seen my cousin and his manservant on their way to Mordonut?"

Grandélf sputtered and clapped a hand over Drippin's mouth. "Remember what I told you, you foolish Tookas! Ut-shay or-yay outh-may about the ing-Ray, sav-ay?" While the simple-minded half-caff tried to work out Grandélf's words, the wizard said to Dentynethor: "My lord, are you ready to hear me? For not all the news I bear is dark; your son Boromocha lives, and he is coming to Minas Teabag by roads unseen. Will you not sound the silver trumpets of which he is so fond of speaking?"

"You think that you are a wiseacre, _Milkeeway_, but for all your subtle teas, you have not wisdom! Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are nearsighted? I have seen further than you know!" Reaching into his robes, Dentynethor withdrew a glass object, and Drippin gasped as he recognized the PalanTV, so similar to the one he had looked into, that had been taken from the soggy wreckage of Isencoaster.

"CSI:Middle-girth and DateLine have been covered your movements since you left Imladrip, Grandélf! I saw your fall in Moreeka, and the battle with the Foulgrog! I saw that rag-tag company escape to Loriándadánish, and the chocolate and magic that was brewed there! And I saw my son fall upon the green mound of Perk Galen, surrounded by enemies and friendless!"

"Then you must have seen that your son did not die, but was wounded merely!" cried Drippin. "Did you happen to see the last episode of 'Lost'? I'm dying to know what happened to Charlie..." Grandélf caught Drippin's collar and shushed him.

"I did not see, for then my reception was cast into confusion, and I was assailed by visions of dark ships and flamboyantly dressed persons staggering about, besmudged with excesses of masquera and displaying extremely poor dental hygiene. It is the future of Minas Teabag I have seen! Her end, and the End for all Enemies of the Dark Café. Why should we fight it?"

Dentynethor's face became aglow with madness. He turned to Faramocha, who was staring at him in growing alarm. "And you... why couldn't you be more like your brother? You allowed our one chance to conquer over Bad Coffee to slip away, in the hands of a witless half-caff--"

"Hey!" shouted Drippin, "Watch who're calling 'witless'! That's my cousin you're talking about! NescaFrodo has the big pretty blue eyes; I am the witless one!"

Dentynethor turned away from them, muttering darkly, "The CoffeeRing should have been brought here, hidden in the darkest and deepest cupboard. Not to be used... no! not until the very most utter end of need, when there is naught left to drink at teatime but instant decaf or diet cola."

"I would not brew that coffee, Father," said Faramocha, shaking his head and moving to stand next to Grandélf and Drippin, "not if Minas Teabag was asleep and I alone could wake her! I may be crazy, but I ain't that far gone!"

"So," Dentynethor turned and frowned at him, fingering his remote control angrily, "you would turn against your own father, and take sides with a wandering wizard and a half-sized creamer? It matters not... the end shall be the same. Fight if you wish, fools! I no longer care. I'm going to go and catch up on my soaps!" Dentynethor swept from the hall, taking his remote control and his PalanTV with him.

"What do we do now, Grandélf?" asked Drippin, as he watched Faramocha beginning to pick leaves and twigs out of his hair. "Is there any hope for NescaFrodo and Sanka, and for us? Lord Dentynethor has seen much in the PalanTV, and he says we're all doomed!"

Grandélf placed a comforting hand on Drippin's shoulder. "Don't believe everything you see in the PalanTV, my lad! Much Dentynethor may have seen, but much he may have missed, for one must consider commercial editing and trips to the little Steward's Room. He cannot know with certainty what the End will be, nor how it will come. We must have faith that help will come to us." Grandélf led him to the window that looked out eastward, toward the dark and forbidding mountains that fenced Mordonut. "All our hopes now rest in NescaFrodo's hands."

Below them, the fields of Pelennor were crowded and noisy as hundreds of thousands of horcs, gobblings, bridge-trolls, paquerfanz, Grondhogs, construction workers, gremlins, Oléophants, gothpunks, barristers, gianocerouses, truck drivers, and hoards of other scary and thirsty individuals clammoured and shoved each other, trying to get to the front of the service queue.

"What shall we do, Grandélf? How do we fight them?" Faramocha asked, who was behaving in a surprisingly sane and cognant manner now that his father had left the room.

Grandélf looked down upon the army of dark customers, and his aged face lit with a grim smile. "It is time to use our secret weapon. Serve them the fruitcake!"

Faramocha stared at the wizard in surprise. "That is so cruel, Grandélf! Isn't using fruitcake against the Geneva Convention?"

Grandélf favoured him with a genuine smile. "This is Middle-girth! There is no such place as Geneva here!"


	63. Chapter 63 Coming of Cream and Sugar

**The Coming of Cream and Sugar  
_The Lightening of the Coffee_**

Isilcreme was first wrought and made ready, and first rose into the realm of the coffee. Then for a while the coffee was lightened, and many things stirred and woke that were groggy and needed that 'little pick-me-up'. The servants of Maxwellcôr were filled with amazement, but the Elves of the Outer Lands looked up in delight; and even as the cream lightened the coffee in the west, Finratherbegolfin let blow his silver trumpets and began his march into Middle-girth; the shadows of his host went long and black before them, looking for a donut shoppe.

Once the Cup of Heaven had been stirred seven times with Vardecaf's Silver Spoon, and Isilcreme was in the furthest east, then Ariensugar arose in glory, and the first sweetening of the coffee was like a great blessing upon the earth, the frothed milk was blended into the drink well, and now there was the sound of many coffeemugs being raised and sipped.

Then indeed was Maxwellcôr dismayed, and he descended into the uttermost depths of Angbrand, and withdrew his servants; for he was a daysleeper, and the sound of the steaming milk made him wakeful and grouchy.

Now Vardecaf purposed that the two holy condiments should always journey through the coffee together, and be forever immersed, but not as one; they should be kept in separate containers and passed generously round the table. But Isilcreme was wayward and uncertain in his shelf-life, and was drawn to Ariensugar, desiring to be close to her sweetness, so that he was curdled.

Because of the waywardness of Isilcreme, and because of the prayers of the Valar (who were gaining weight and becoming listless) Vardecaf changed her council, and allowed a time when both condiments could be blended or laid aside according to the taste of the drinker, wherein the world could still enjoy blackperk and half-caf.

Maxwellcôr hated the new additives, and was for a while confounded by this unlooked-for beverage alternative. Then he assailed Isilcreme, sending spirits of blackest cocoa against him, and there was strife in the coffee beneath the stars; but Isilcreme was victorious, and as a result of the brew-haha, chocolate cream was discovered, and all the Drinkers of Light rejoiced.

And Brewlúvatar said to Maxwellcôr, "Thou shalt see that no cream may be used that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the coffee in my despite (except the waitress at Denny's who refills my cup before I am finished and destroys my cream/sugar ratio). Anyone else who attempteth this shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined."

Maxwellcôr pouted. "You just want credit for EVERYTHING!"


	64. Chapter 64 Coffee to Wake the Dead

**Coffee To Wake The Dead**

**_And Now, A Toast_**

Aromagorn paced nervously through the darkness. He was beginning to think that this 'short-cut' wasn't such a wild idea. With clarity, he recalled the conversation that had occurred the night before... Had it really only been the night before?

By the aching in the forelobes of his brain, Aromagorn bitterly regretted the "last pint" he had consumed. 'If only' he thought carefully through his hangover, 'If only I had stopped at twenty shots of coffee liqueur! That last one really did me in!" He stepped awkwardly in the dark and jarred his head. He groaned, remembering ...

King Karóden of Yuban had ordered a great barrel of java d'jour opened, in honour of their guests. It was a strong dark beverage made by the fermenting of coffee beans. They had been raising a toast to the Victorious Dead, followed by a toast to the Victorious Living and another to the Ambivalent Bystanders, when news of the lighting of the Beacons of Gondaroma came to their ears.

"Gondaroma calls us to come and fight!" announced Karóden, ordering the mugs to be refilled, "That, or there is a fire-sale in the Lampwright's District. Either way, we ride!"

This was answered with a chorus of **_Huzzah!_** and the mugs newly filled were drained. They planned to set forth immediately.

But of course, custom dictated that they must drink the 'Farewell' Cup, and the 'Stirrup' Cup, as well as the 'Battle Is Coming' Cup, the 'We're Hopelessly Outnumbered But Spoiling For A Fight' Cup, the 'One More For The Road' Cup, and the 'Well, The Keg Is Almost Empty... It Would Be A Shame To Let It Go To Waste' Cup. By then, naturally they had forgotten where their horses were and which direction Minas Teabag was in, so they collapsed into little piles of unshaven leather and burlap and began to snore.

Except for Legolatté and Gemli. They continued their game, a competition drinking espresso shot for shot, until no Man (or woman) of Yuban could withstand them... or stand between them and the 'Little Free People's' Room, rather.

Late that night, Aromagorn awoke with a strange dream knocking inside his head, and his future Father-in-law glaring down at him, eyebrows arched as if to give the St Louis Monument pause.

Aromagorn realized that he was sleeping in the stable and he prayed silently that the warm body that lay next to him beneath the horseblanket remained still and hidden. This would require an eloquent and coherent explanation.

"Gah." So much for eloquence. Aromagorn tried to spit out the lint-covered candle-stub that was inside his mouth, until he realized that it was his tongue.

Elground was not sympathetic. "Shut up and listen, Isillydur's Heir. If you think that I am going to let my daughter marry a scruffy human who drinks to much coffee liqueur and sleeps in barns... well, you'd be right! But you gotta become King first. No daughter of MINE is sleeping in a barn unless it is THE KING of Gondoroma's Royal Barn, understand? Now get up and get going! Take the shortcut through the spooky mountain. The plot is starting to drag." Then his horse Brego (hiding under the blanket) had bitten him on the leg.

So here he was, in the dark spooky mountain; cold, confused, and coffee-less, with a big horsebite on his leg. At least he was not alone. His friends and companions were with him, loyal to the last.

"This is the stupidest idea you have ever had!" complained Boromocha, fumbling his sword-hilt in the pitch-blackness all around them. "Are you sure 'Estel' isn't Elvish for 'dope' in stead of 'hope' ?"

Legolatté chimed in cheerfully with: "What about that time at Elground's Council when he suggested that we build an enormous slingshot on top of Isencoaster Tower and shoot the Coffee-Ring into Mordor?" He and Boromocha laughed loudly.

"Okay," Boromocha agreed, chortling, "I'll give you one... that idea was worse!"

Aromagorn grumbled. Gemli reached up and patted him on the back. "It would have worked, too, if we could have found a really big rubberband."

The heir of Isillydur sighed. Maybe it would have been better to be alone.

Just then there was a sound; the scrape of metal on metal, clinking like a length of chain dragged across flagstones, accompanied by a limping footstep and a mournful wailing. Gemli as so afraid that he leapt straight into Legolatté's arms. "Ruts rat, Raggy?" he said, incoherent with terror, perhaps.

"Gemli," said the Elf calmly, dropping the Dwarf on his armoured bottom, "This is not an episode of Scooby-Doo."

They regarded the apparition: a man it looked, or like one, with garments rotting from gaunt limbs, bleached bone flashing through torn cloth. The face was all sallow skin stretched over misshapen skull, with red protruding eyes and black protruding... you get the picture.

"The way is shut..." the thing moaned, waving its putrid arms at them. "It was made by those that are dead, but before they were dead. They couldn't very well make it after they were dead, now can they? How do you hold a hammer when you're dead? Gods, I am bored!" The ghost rattled its chains and sighed. "Do you guys wanna play Graveyard Scrabble?"

Aromagorn's head began to pound again. "Does anyone have any coffee? I have such a hangover..."

Suddenly the darkness around them was filled with hundreds... thousands of revenants, all in various degrees of decay, clacking their fleshless fingers. "Coffeeeeeeee..." the windless dark seemed to sigh.

Legolatté reached into his hip-pack and withdrew a small can. "I have some Elvish Instant EMP. You don't even need any water... just sprinkle some on your tongue... wait, do you have health insurance?"

Aromagorn took the can from the Elf, but it slipped in his shaking fingers and spilled across the chamber, innervating all the hundreds of undeadmen.

"Whoa!" The ghost bowed before Aromagorn and said, "You have rejuvenated us! Tell us what to do, and we will obey, as long as the coffee rush lasts!"

"Let's go to Gondaroma," said Aromagorn with a grin, his headache beginning to fade, "I hear there is going to be a bit of a barney."


	65. Chapter 65 Dark Days in Mordonut

**Dark Days in Mordonut**

NescaFrodo and Sanka struggled across the desolate lands of Mordonut, creeping in the near-gloom of the low-wattage fluorescent illumination that flickered on and off like weak lightning. They were careful to avoid the crowds of horcs and gobblings that milled around the drying reservoirs of diluted, bitter coffee with which Sour'on fed his teeming armies. The half-caffs own coffee reserves had been used up long ago, and now they were moving forward fueled solely on willpower and tigermilk bars.

NescaFrodo was close to exhaustion. He could smell the coffee of Sour'on, and it was a torment he could never have imagined. Also, the Coffee Ring hung on him, whispering of indulgence and enervation but all the time growing heavier and heavier, so that he seemed to bow to the earth bearing its great weight.

Sanka followed NescaFrodo, silent but for clumsy words of encouragement and an occasional knock-knock joke. He had given NescaFrodo the last of his own carefully hoarded coffee, and his mouth was so dry that he could not even nibble on the poptarts the elves had given them.

Their goal loomed before them; Café Doom, the mountain of Java. Its base was littered with stale grounds, scorched and reused until they were almost paste. Its sloping sides were scored with pock-marks and flamescar from the blazing whole coffeebeans that were blasted from the restless core of the angry mountain. Down those slopes poured syrupy rivers of espresso, like bitter chocolate. Constant smoke and steam issued from the mighty percolator. The whole place smelled like a Starbucks dumpster on a hot summer afternoon.

And away beyond, to the East, rose the tower of the Eye, blinking furiously amid all the smoke and ash, wishing eternally that It had possessed the foresight to make Itself tearducts or maybe a tinted monocle, for ever It was getting burning fumes drying out Itself. The horcs had to dumping Visine over It by the bucketful. It couldn't even watch Its favourite programmes on the PalanTV, for the reception in Mordonut was terrible. Several centuries of this had left It feeling a tad irritable.

But to compound Its misery, It could sense that the Coffee Ring was near... ITS Coffee Ring! It could have smelled it, if It had possessed a nose. Why, o why hadn't It made Itself a nose?

"Well," The Eye shrugged, "I suppose that would have looked pretty silly on a flag..."


	66. Chapter 66 Pirates of the Carob Bean

**Pirates of the Carob-bean**

Out of the dark hills and across the plains rode Aromagorn and his friends. They were followed close by the grey-featured ghosts and gibbering ghouls of the Big Spooky Mountain, driven by an undying passion for donuts. They swept across the lands and scoured it of naughty beasts, eating all the strudel and cupcakes that could be found. They then came swiftly to the harbour of Pelagir and saw many black ships there, crewed by pirates that Sour'on had bribed with long johns and cappuccino to sail upriver and steal the patronage of the Cafés of Gondaroma.

It was an awful scene: The ghosts of the Spooky mountain seemed to run across the very water, sweeping the unwashed and amoral pirates into the sea, after ransacking their holds and pantries for anything with sugar in it. Soon they had an entire fleet of empty ships. Men from the lands they had ridden across came up behind and crewed the vessels, eager to get to Minas Teabag now that all the Ding-dongs and Ho-hos in their own lands had been consumed.

Aromagorn chose the largest ship to be his own flagship. It was a majestic edifice with great towering black sails. He leapt aboard, followed closely by Legolatté, Gemli, and Boromocha. But they found that the ship was not abandoned completely.

There were two men still onboard. One was a dark man; a short, slender character in flamboyant pirate garb, red sash, beaded beard; the whole nine yards. His eyes were lined with dark kohl, and he had several teeth capped in glittering gold. The other man was tall and well-built, with a youthful face and the callused hands of a candy-chef. Other than his dark-chocolate eyes and long brown hair, he was the mirror image of a certain Elf from Milkwood Forest.

"Welcome aboard the Black Beryl, gentlemen!" said the dark man, removing his hat and sweeping a bow. "My name is Captain Joe Sparrow, and this is my apprentice privateer Will Turnover."

Legolatté and Will approached each other cautiously, eyeing his twin as if they expected the other to evaporate suddenly.

"Nice hair," said the Elf reluctantly, trying to broaden his chest and look beefy.

"Nice ears," responded Will, touching his own as if in selfconscious envy.

Gemli looked back and forth between the two and said, "O my Mahar... please don't say there are two of them! Leggo, why didn't you tell me you had a brother?"

"I don't?" answered Legolatté, more a question to Will than an answer to the Dwarf.

Will shrugged, an innocent look on his face. Legolatté rubbed his smooth chin, then he reached forward and tugged gently on Will's trim goatee. Will slapped his hand away.

Boromocha and Aromagorn confronted the captain of the vessel, ignoring the Elf and his look-alike.

"Why did the hungry ghosts not frighten you away, as they did the other pirates?" asked Boromocha. "And where did you get that hat, Joe Sparrow? I want one like that!"

"_**Captain**_ Joe Sparrow, if you please," sighed the pirate. He sauntered over to Boromocha and Aromagorn and looked them up and down. "We have no chocolate or pastries on board the Black Beryl, so they did not attack us, you see. And where do you think you're going to, eh mates? What's the hurry?"

Aromagorn raised his chin and tried to will his beard to grow long enough to braid and string with beads. "We are bound upriver to break the siege of Minas Teabag, and we need a fast ship."

"The Black Beryl is the fastest ship ever built! But why should we sail you upriver? What's in it for me? I see no profit in it for me."

Gemli hefted his axe and looked at Captain Joe. "He'd look better if he were a few feet shorter. Can I trim his sails, Aromagorn?"

"Not yet, Gemli. I think I know how to pursuade our friend the Captain." Aromagorn said to Sparrow, "What do you seek in these waters, you Pirates?"

"We seek a treasure in chocolate! I have a compass that points in the direction of a land that is full of sweetness and caffeine, pure silken cocoa and cream. Have you heard of this place? I must find it!

"We have been hunting this treasure for many years, you see. We are under a curse, Will and I, that we must find a great wealth of cocoa beans and return them to a secret island in the West. I had found this map, you see, and we followed it to the Island of Isle a de Milquchocolaté, where we discovered a great golden chest full of beans of unusual properties, the purest and most magical beans ever grown! They reportedly contained no calories and we could eat all we wanted and never get corpulent and flabby!

"Find it, we did. There be the chest; inside be the beans. And we took them all! We roasted them and we ground them, and we used them just like chocolate, making sweets and delicious-looking candies.

"The more we cooked with them and ate them, the more we came to realize: These were not cocoa beans, but carob beans! The carob would not satisfy; the candy tasted like ashes in our mouths; and all the pleasurable of caffeine and sugar had been removed from our diets. We are men that crave chocolate, Missy."

"Don't call me that. My name is Aromagorn; I am the king of Gondaroma! I am not a girl." The pirate cut his eyes toward Legolatté, with his long blonde hair and willowy build. "Neither is he. I think."

Sparrow continued his interrupted monologue: "Obsessed we were before, but now we are consumed by lust for real chocolate! There is only one way to end our curse; we have gathered all the carob-treats and destroyed them, and now we search for the land Real Chocolate."

Gemli elbowed Aromagorn in the knee and the man bent down so that the Dwarf could whisper into his ear. Aromagorn grinned and patted Gemli on his helmet. "Friend pirate, have you ever heard of Lady Godivariel?"

Captain Joe snatched off his hat at the mention of her name. "So there is a Queen of Chocolate, as old tales tell! Few escape her fondue, they say. These are strange days! But if you have traveled through that land, then perhaps you could tell us where this place lies, eh? Pretty please with sucralose on top?"

"Well," said Aromagorn, with a wink at his companions, "it just happens that the road to Loriandadanish runs right past Minas Teabag... if you were to give us a lift, we could see our way to writing you a letter of introduction...

"... what say you to that, Captain Sparrow?"


	67. Chapter 67 Hobbean Roast Marshmallows

_Author's note: I can't sleep, so I am taking it out on all of you! chuckles Here's some extreme naughtiness for you. Bear in mind that I have started a diet, and food, rather than coffee, is foremost in my mind. Better eat something before you read this... enjoy!_

**Elven Song of Silly Coffee **  
_from the Hobbean _

O! What are you doing,  
And where are you going?  
The coffee is brewing!  
The java is flowing!  
O! tra-la-la-lally  
Awake in the valley!  
Ah! ha!

O! What are you stirring,  
And what are you baking?  
The scent is alluring!  
The icing is flaking!  
O! tril-lil-lil-leddy  
The cupcakes are ready!  
Ah!-ha!

O! Where are you going  
With tongues all a-dragging?  
The best coffee we're pouring  
And that is not bragging!  
Our lattés are better  
Though you'll sleep maybe never  
Again!

O! Will you be staying,  
To return maybe later?  
The juke-box is playing!  
Please do tip your waiter!

To fly would be folly  
To stay would be jolly  
Don't be a berk!  
Come and have a cup of perk!  
On the House!  
Ha! ha!

-excerpts from_ The Bilbean; or Bean There And Back Again, a Half-caff Holiday_

**Roast Marshmallows**

There they all sat glum and wet and muttering, while Oinge and Glóinchop went on trying to light the fire to make some coffee, and quarreling about it. Bilbean was sadly reflecting that Adventures are not all pony-rides in the May-sunshine and cappuccino, and that if the Dwarves were frustrated now, just wait until they succeeded in making a fire only to learn that there were no coffee beans left in their stores.

Suddenly Balinseed, who was always their look-out Dwarf, said: "There's a light over there!" There was a hill some ways off with trees on it, and out of the dark mass the Dwarves and the Half-caff could now see a light shining, as it might be a fire or torches twinkling.

It was generally voted (twelve to one, with one abstaining vote) that Bilbean should go and investigate, and bring back some fire or food or whatever fresh pastries he could obtain in his capacity as a burglar. Despite his objections that this was definitely not in his job description, the hapless Half-caff soon found himself creeping toward the light. He was not happy... no, not at all! Where was that dratted wizard Gandgulp anyway?

As he came closer to the fire, he smelled coffee. His mouth watered and he crept forward, intent to steal a cup with cream and sugar, if nothing else.

Three very large persons were sitting round a very large fire of beech-logs. They were toasting marshmallows on long sticks, and dipping them in chocolate before consuming them messily. Bilbean could smell graham crackers. Also there was a vast tureen of coffee brewing nearby, and the scent made Bilbean faintly dizzy with desire. He would have nicked in and stolen the whole kettle, but it was larger than his own bathtub back in TeaBagEnd. These persons were, after all, Trolls.

"Marshmallows yesterday, marshmallows today, and blimey, if it don't look like marshmallows tomorrer," said one of the trolls.

"Never a blinking bit of bratwurst have had for long enough," said a second. "What the 'ell Willyam was a-thinkin' of to bring us into these parts at all, beats me-- and the coffee runnin' short, what's more," he said jogging the elbow of Willyam, who was trying to eat a marshmallow off of his pointed stick. He burned his mouth on a flaming marshmallow and poked his eye out with the stick.

"Ow! Lookie wha' ya did, Tommytoe! Ah burned ma tongue!" he said as soon as he could. "Yer can't expect to be able t' waltz down to the 7-11 and buy some oscars as if this were downtown Bree, ya know! I've noticed that yer eatin' yer share o' mallows! So shaddup and pass the chocolate!" he groped on the ground, narrowly missing crushing Bilbean, "Where's m' eye?"

Bilbean deftly avoided Willyam's fumbling and gave a wide berth to the watery, rolling eye that was laying on the ground, covered with dirt. The daft Half-caff had decided that these three Trolls were too stupid and clumsy to catch him, and he was keen to flitch some s'mores and coffee to take back as prizes to the Dwarves. Thoníon would have to admit that he was a good burglar after all if he...

"Blimey, Bersatz, look what I've copped!" said Willyam. The troll had spotted the Half-caff with his displaced eye and grabbed the little fellow by the neck.

"What is it?" said the others coming up.

"Lumme, if I knows! What are yer?"

"Bilbean TeaBaggins, a bur--a Half-caff," said poor Bilbean, shaking all over.

"A burra'fcaff?" said they a bit startled. Trolls are slow on the uptake, and mighty suspicious about anything new to them. "Is that some kind of half donkey an' half cow thingy? What do you taste like?" The trolls licked their sticky lips, contemplating something to eat besides marshmallows, for a change.

Bilbean thought quickly. "I tasted just like a marshmallow, only more so. O please, don't eat me!"

"He wouldn't make a mouthful," said Willyam, who was sick to death of marshmallows.

"P'raps there are more like him round about, and we might make a pie," said Bersatz, who had a sweet-tooth. "Here you, are there anymore like you at home?"

"Yes, er.. I mean no, none at all, not one! Please, if you eat me, you'll regret it. I cook better than I cook... that is, I am a good cook. I can make a marshmallow taste like prime-rib! Really! I'll cook beautifully for you, a perfectly lovely meal, if only you won't have me for supper."

"Poor little blighter," said Willyam. "Let's let him go!"

"No way! I'm still hungry." said Bersatz.

"Well, I caught him, and I say we let him go!"

There followed a gorgeous row as the two Trolls began to fight, like girlscouts over the last tube of strawberry lipgloss. Tommytoe deftly saved the coffee-pot from overturning as the two rolled around, pulling hair and screeching all sorts of perfectly true and applicable names in very loud voices, none of which can be repeated on a family-friendly messageboard.

Suddenly the Trolls stopped fighting and looked around. The Dwarves, hearing the cursing and thumping and seeing the fire flickering in the distance so inviting, had come up and were placing bets on which Troll was going to win the fight. (Dwarves are notorious gamblers, and will place a bet on anything even remotely competitive, be it banana-slug races or who can grow their beard the fastest)

The Trolls quickly grabbed all 13 of them and popped them into sacks. Soon Balinseed and Oinge and Glóinchop were all tied up fast in sacks, as well as Dwadlin', and Filet and Billet, and Doragano and Norice and Oreo, and Bifburgon and Bofromage and Bon-bonbur. Thonion came last, kicking Willyam's wandering eye into the fire in his anger at seeing his folk bagged like groceries. They tucked him in a sack all by himself and tied it up tight. Bilbean cowered behind a bush, forgotten for the moment.

Just then Gandgulp came back. No one saw him. Bersatz and Tommytoe were arguing about whether to eat the Dwarves now or wait until later. Willyam was depressed about his eye. Gandulp snuck in close and spiked the coffee with Thorazine, then waited until the Trolls had drank themselves into a stupor. He freed the Dwarves and bade them follow him to a safe place. Bilbean hesitated, looking back at the Trolls.

"They weren't all bad. Are we going to just leave them like that?"

Gandgulp placed a comforting hand on Bilbean's shoulder. "There are three things you need to know to survive in the Outside, Bilbean: First, never cook bacon in the nude. Second, Discretion is the better part of burglary, and Third, Always let sleeping Trolls lie."

"I thought that we were supposed to trick them into waiting until the sun rose so that they turned into stone."

"They're as stoned as they're gonna get! Now let's get out of here! We have reservations at Rivendell Perk, and the matre'd Elground is a stickler for punctuality."

Bilbean followed the wizard and the Dwarves, looking once more over his shoulder wistfully at the coffee. He hoped the Elves knew how to brew a decent cup. He was weary of Dwarf-chicory. He promised himself that when he got around to writing in his journal about his adventure, he would 'beef' up the story a little. After all, who was going to read it, anyway?


	68. Chapter 68 The Darkening of the Drink

**Of the Darkening of the Drink  
**_Taken from the Quenta Caffemarillion: _

Javanna spoke before the Valar, saying, "The Coffee of the Two Trees has passed away, and lives now only in the Cafilmarills of Feanoroma. Had I but a little of that coffee, I could recall them to life, ere their beans decay, and thus the malice of Maxwellcôr be confounded."

Then Manwëhous spoke, "Hearest thou, Feanoroma son of Frenchroast, the words of Javanna? Wilt thou grant what she has asked?"

Feanoroma spoke then, and he cried bitterly, "It may be that I can unlock my beans, but never again shall I brew their like; and if I must brew them, then I will break my mug, and my coffee shall spill, the first stain in all of Aman."

"Not the first," said Mandosucra, and he said no more, but wore a knowing smile.

Manwëhous looked at him and said, "You know, that is _really_ annoying!"

Mandosucra looked back at him and smiled again. "I know."

Feanoroma then learned that Maxwellcôr had gone to his home, and stolen his Cafilmarills, and spilled his father Frenchroast's coffee upon the ground. He lifted his hand to Manwëhous, and cursed Maxwellcôr, calling him _Nocreme_, the Black Foe of the Latté. He cursed also Manwëhous, and Javanna, and his father Frenchroast, and the incorporeal air; and they knew then that he had had too much of the coffee, and they set him down with a donut to rid himself of the shakes.

And so Aman was darkened, and the Coffee of the Two Trees was feared lost forever, but this was not so...


	69. Chapter 69 Food Fight on Pelannor Field

**Lord of the Coffee, Return of the Vendé:**  
**Food-Fight on the Pelannor Fields**

And so, desperate and seemingly departed from all humanity, Grandélf ordered the bombardment of fruitcakes upon the churning hoards of Naughty Beasties that Sour'on, the Lord of the Dark Café, had sent against the city of Minas Teabag. Catapult and trebuchet launched the barely-edible confections upon Dark Army, crushing many as the brick-hard pastries tumbled through the crowd; others choked trying to chew the rubbery cherries and oranges; boiling vats of hot fudge were poured upon the heads of the attackers, causing them to be eaten promptly by their companions; but the masses of Mordonut pressed on, to the very gates of Minas Teabag, barely slowed by the barrage of holiday foodstuffs.

The Armies of Mordonut had brought weapons of their own. Great firehoses wound like bloated earthworms toward the fair walls of Minas Teabag, spraying the white stone with gritty coffee dregs, and filling the air with coursely-ground soggy beans. Giant rubber-band slingshots hurled flaming popcorn-balls over the walls, to explode against the buttresses of the inner circles, raining down foul kernels upon the heads of the Men of Gondaroma. Waterballons filled with rancid tapioca and meringue splattered at random, and from above the _Nutrálites_ sent down a hail of noxious faux-sugar cubes to harrie the besieged city.

No missile or horned hand could mar those marvelous gates that kept the teeming horcs from entering the city, so at the last word was sent back to bring out 'the secret weapon'.

Long it had been baking in the clay-ovens of Mordonut, shaped by moulds from the deepest pit of Sour'on's dungeons; Bundt, the Cake of Death. Slowly they hauled the ponderous pastry forward, towed forward by huge treat-beasts and with massive trolls to roll it; and as it passed through (and over) the ranks of Mordonut, a grunting cry rose up from the throats of the rank army in a horrible croak:

Bundt!** Bundt! _Bundt!_**

Hearing that dread sound, the knees of soldiers of Gondaroma quaked like jell-o.

And to lend further despair to the fearful frosted city, up the brown waters of Andúnkin came sailing on the morning wind a fleet of ships with black sails. Horrid cheers rose from the masses of Mordonut upon seeing them; the Pirates of the Carob-bean had arrived late to fight on Sour'on's side.

It appeared that Minas Teabag's goose was well and finally cooked.

But lo! Hark to the west! The horns of Karóden, King of Yuban are sounding, sweet as tea whistles at 4 o'clock! And see the river! The fleet of ships with black sails comes!

The armies of Mordonut had at first rejoiced as they were seemingly met with new allies, now they were dismayed as from the sticky decks of the Carob-bean ships leapt not men of mean countenance, but Aromagorn, Legolatté, Gemli, and Boromocha; each so hyped-up on Elvish coffee that they are literally smoking at the ears! With them comes the Men they had met as they sailed up the river, cajoled and shanghaied with promises of fairer coffee and fresh crullers. Even the pirates had joined in the fray, desiring to work off their caffeine-rushes and perhaps take bounty in chocolate for their reward. With them also were the Dead Men from the Haunted Pass, for though Aromagorn kept his vow and released them to seek peace at last, they have been spoiling for a good fight for some centuries, and the coffee still flowed hot through their cobwebbed hearts.

Together the Allies of Good Coffee surrounded the besiegers of Minas Teabag, and the fight began in earnest. Who can say which side threw the first french-fry, or lobbed the latest plate of lasagna? Lima beans and jelly beans rained from the sky, and rivers of gravy and molasses covered the grass. Never before had Middle-girth witnesses such a food-fight, not since the Elder Days when once on Manwëhous's birthday, Maxwelcôr gave him a baklava with a hand-grenade in it.

⌂

_... Meanwhile, in Mordonut, our little half-caff heroes struggle through the Black Café with naught to eat but the dry and flavourless biscotti of the Elves. The few biscuits of Mordonut that Sanka could find and bring to NescaFrodo were overpriced and totally devoid of nutritional value._


	70. Chapter 70 Pelannor Fields Forever

**The Lord of the Coffee: Music for the Riders of Yuban**  
_the song of the Yuban-ions, The Men of Twilight Tea-rooms_

Where now is the cup and the saucer? Where is the spoon that was stirring?  
Where is the bean and the blackroast, and the coffeegrinder whirring?  
Where is the cozie for the kettle, and the goose-shaped trivet enduring?  
Where is the buttered scones, and the white chocolate cheesecake alluring?

The have gone, over like my coffee break, like my brief hours of sleep.  
The day is drawing down to a close, with one short rest for tea.

Who now shall gather the brew of the ground beans hasty,  
Or imbibe the frosted cupcakes I have made, so tasty?

⌂

_Minas Teabag is under siege from the foul forces of Mordonut. But to the rescue comes, on their fair steeds the Riders of Yuban with their king, Karóden of Breadoras, and he brings death and cake to the enemies of Good Coffee. _

You know, writing these parodies makes me very hungry! Enjoy this; I am going for a snack...

**Lord of the Coffee; Pelannor Fields Forever**

Karóden became aware of Oléo, the leader of the Men of Margarine, and he would not wait for his onset, but crying to Snocone, he charged headlong to greet him. Great was the clash of their meeting. But the white fury of the Men of Yuban baked the hotter, and more skilled was their chefhood with the butterknife and long spatula. Fewer were they but they sliced through the Margarines like… well, like hot knives through butter!

But lo! Suddenly in the midst of the glory of the king his golden-brown shield was dimmed. The new morning was blotted from the sky. Down fell about him. There was a great honking sound, and the horses screamed and bolted.

"To me! To me!" cried Karóden, "Get up off your buns, men of Yuban! Fear no aqueous waterfowl!" But Snocone wild with terror stood up on high, fighting with the air, and then with a kick tossed the king onto the ground and galloped away. Karóden lay stunned.

The great shadow descended like a falling cloud. And behold! It was a winged creature; a bird, greater than any that the men of Yuban had ever seen, and it was naked, and had neither quill nor feather did it bear, but was covered in freezer-bitten flesh pimpled with the chill, and its vast pinions were as webs of hide between boney drumsticks; and it stank.

Upon it sat a shape, black-mantled, huge and threatening. A tiara of steel he bore, fashioned by the twisting of many forks, but between rim and robe naught there was to see, save only a deadly glow of a pilot-light: He was the KnishKing, Lord of the _Nútralites_. He urged his fell-fowl forward and in an evil voice he said, "Feast on his focaccia!"

King Karóden was helpless. He shrank back but could not escape the grinding yellowed beak. But he was not utterly forsaken. One stood there still, Poúpon the Young, faithful beyond fear, and with him was MochaMerry. They had both been born right through the charge, unharmed until the shadowbird arrived; then they had been unhorsed in the terror of his coming. MochaMerry lay on the ground like a glazed donut and tried to think of a way to get out of his contract.

Out of the blackness before the half-caff's eyes he thought that he heard Poúpon's voice speaking; yet now the voice seemed strangely high-pitched and girlish.

"Begone, foul turkey, you hyper-thyroid Cornish hen! Leave the dead in peace!"

Karóden raised one arm and said in a small voice, "I'm not dead yet."

Poúpon spared him a glance, then repeated with less conviction, "Leave the near-fatally wounded in peace, I say!"

"Actually, I feel fine…" added Karóden.

"Shhh!" hissed Poúpon. "You're costing me an Oscar!" To the great beast and its inky rider, he said boldly, "I will cook your goose if you touch him!"

The KnishKing halted and said, "Come not between the _Nútralite_ and his prey, or he will not slay thee in they turn. He will bear thee away to the Houses of International Pancakes, where thy crusts will be devoured, thy coffee utterly consumed, and thy soul left naked before the Blood-shot Eye!"

"Do what you will," cried Poúpon, and from his pocket drew an ink-quill—deadly sharp, "but I will bring you your check, if I may.

"Thou wouldst try to cash me out? Thou fool! No living waiter may bill me for my tab!"

Then MochaMerry heard of all sounds in that hour the strangest. It seemed that Poúpon laughed, "No living waiter am I! You look upon a waitress! Mayówyn am I, Hélman's daughter. You stand between me and my tip-jar. Begone, if you be not deathless, for living or dark undead, I will spill your coffee if you touch it!" she spared another glance at Karóden, "or him!"

The featherless bustard screamed at her, but the _Nútralite_ made no answer, as if he were filled with sudden doubt. 'Did I leave my cashcard in my other shroud?' he was thinking.

Mayówyn took advantage of his hesitance and with her mighty pen; she slew his putrid pigeon with a single stroke, proving the old adage that a writing instrument is indeed a mighty weapon—to the great amusement of those keeping track of clichés.

Greatly miffed, the KnishKing came forward with a great waffle-iron, and he swung it a deadly blow that glanced off of her bread-shield and left only criss-cross burn marks on its golden surface.

MochaMerry raised his head and the blackness was lifted from his eyes. His cloak had fallen over his head. Feeling foolish, he snuck up on the bony wraith and with his trusty barrow'd blade, he sliced the crossed garters that held up his baggy trousers.

The KnishKing was wearing KrispyKreme boxer shorts with the caption, "Ready or Not, When We're Hot, We're Hot!"

Mayówyn covered her mouth with her hand, but could not hold in her laughter.

Fatally embarrassed, the KnishKing fled from Middle girth, never to return to this story, unless it served the plot.

MochaMerry hurried to Mayówyn's side, and together with King Karóden they laughed hysterically until the men from the White City came and wrapped them in nice white jackets that had long sleeves that tied in the back. They were then borne with honour and fanfare into Minas Teabag, celebrated as heroes.

The Men of Yuban set about digging a barbecue pit big enough to roast a two-tonne squab.


	71. Chapter 71 Queuing in Purgatory

**Sméagolatté's Song of Coffee**

I love my spoon  
Silver like the Moon!  
So round and cool!

I only wish  
For a hot fresh knish  
That would _RULE!_

Awake with bad breath  
Sleep-walking death  
For Coffee ever thirsting, ever drinking  
Stir my java, spoon never clinking

Thinks my Master NescaFrodo

Is a dodo!  
Fixes nasssty half-caff  
With my glassy stare

How sweet and fair!  
Wish with all my heart  
For an apple tart,  
Or a chocolate éclair!

**Lord of the Coffee; Queueing in Purgatory**

The half-caffs had reached the coffee mountain, and now they crept up the slippery sides like small brown banana slugs. As NescaFrodo laboured to drag his lethargic limbs up the mountain, he was seized by a desire to put on the Coffee Ring. How easy it would be to climb then! He could scamper up the slope like a goat... but Sanka would not share in that. Only one hand at a time could wield the Coffee, and NescaFrodo would not leave his friend behind.

So they inched on, until NescaFrodo was literally crawling on the grounds. He collapsed after a few feet, his breath stirring the powdered coffee-dust as he swooned.

Sanka dragged himself to NescaFrodo's side and cradled his master in his arms. NescaFrodo lay limp, utterly spent and listless. In his heart Sanka grieved, for the loss of the fiery spirit and will that his master had always shown, which now seemed slain. He hated this place and what it was doing to them, to NescaFrodo especially.

He rubbed his stinging eyes and said to NescaFrodo in a hoarse whisper, "Do you remember the Shire, Mr NescaFrodo? TeaBag End? If we were home right now, I'd have breakfast just about ready for you. Bacon and eggs, with toast and marmalade... just as you like it, and scones with butter and a big kettle of steaming hot..."

NescaFrodo opened his eyes wearily and watched Sanka's lips moving as he spoke. He knew that his faithful friend and companion was trying to comfort him and give his strength-Uncle Bilbean had always said that thoughts of home and good coffee had given him courage in dark places-but if he had possessed the strength, he would have begged Sanka to stop talking. He feared the mention of coffee would break his resolve not to use the Coffee Ring.

But he was weak and spent, and he could only listen to his friend. Yet, instead of misery, Sanka's words brought him a measure of peace. But still, the Coffee Ring tantalized him.

"Do you remember it at all, Mr NescaFrodo?" Sanka was saying.

NescaFrodo licked his dry lips with a dryer tongue and said in a voice barely louder than a thought, "I can't recall the taste of coffee, Sanka, nor the smell of bread. No hint of mint or dream of cream is left to me. I am hungry in the middle of a café and there is no waitress to seat me. I can hear the Coffee Ring calling my name..."

"Shut up, you stupid Ring!" shouted Sanka, and he gently threw his master over his shoulders and carried him the rest of the way up the mountain.

But just as Sanka reached the doorway to the Cup of Doom, a familiar hated hissing voice came to his ears. To the half-caff's dismay and annoyance, Smeágolatté cut into line ahead of them. The wretched little sneak was not happy.

"Nassty halfcaffss! They mussn't do it! Don't destroy the Deliciouss... give it back to uss, if you don't wantss it!" He grabbed at NescaFrodo's neck, where the Coffee Ring hung.

NescaFrodo came suddenly awake, and he jerked the Coffee Ring back from Smeágolatté's grasp. "Do not touch me! Do not say that again! Before ever you taste the Coffee again, I shall take it up, and I would command you to drink decaf… or to stand in line for tax assistance… and you would do it, Smeágolatté! Don't mess with the Master of the Delicious! I am feeling _really_ edgy right now!"

Smeágolatté cowered and bowed to NescaFrodo, but in his eye a cunning gleam still glowed. He hung back when NescaFrodo turned to continue the journey, but he followed stealthfuly, keeping out of Sanka's sight.

_The mountain reared before them; daunting, dangerous, and sticky._


	72. Chapter 72 Picking Up the Pieces

**Lord of the Coffee:  
Picking Up The Pieces**

The battle was not won without some losses among the heroes. Many of the brave men of Gondaroma and Yuban were slain, trampled by the rampaging hoards of Mordonut or stoned by stray pieces of fruitcake. Héomer suffered some tarnish on his horsehead helmet, causing some panic until a clean rag and some jeweler's rouge could be found. Gemli's axe was notched when he swung at a charging Oléophant and his weapon was blocked by a _paqherzphan_ wielding a ham-and-cheese sandwich from KwickTrip. Legolatté's braids were badly bruised, and sadly, Legolatté's identical pirate twin was grievously injured on the battle field when someone shouted **'Fire at Will!'** His life was spared only by the fact that the mass of arrows fired by the horcs (and some of the men of Yuban) were largely absorbed by the possé of young girls who followed the handsome cavalier everywhere he went. Captain Joe Sparrow lost a gold filling and excused himself to go look for it.

Boromocha and Aromagorn were unscathed, and they surveyed the destruction and chaos of the battle, standing amid mounds of Mounds, maraschino cherries lying in heaps like pebbles, and drifts of whipped cream. Suddenly Boromocha cried out, and he ran forward and lifted his brother Faramocha from where he had fallen. There was a bad tear in Faramocha's tightly-fitting pants but other than that, Aromagorn could find no wound upon him.

"What is his ailment?" Grandélf asked, arriving on the scene unsoiled except for a few crumbs on his beard and a large coffee stain on his sleeve.

"Oh, he's alright," answered Boromocha, shouldering his little brother like a sack. "He's got narcolepsy. Tends to fall asleep at the silliest times. He'll wake up with a stout cup of coffee under his nose, if there is any left in the City after this rabble has come and gone."

"Let us go then and find our friends," said Aromagorn, and they gathered the wounded and those suffering from indigestion, and among these they found King Karóden, Lady Mayówyn, and MochaMerry all afflicted with a strange illness that caused them to laugh hysterically until they passed out. Even unconscious they giggled, and occasionally one would mutter in their sleep, "Do you want a cherry pie with that?" or sometimes "Sour'on stinks!" They were carried into the City with honour and settled in the Houses of Healing and Hotcakes.

Aromagorn came to them and eased their various small hurts, but the three could not be awakened from their unnatural amusement. Finally, Aromagorn knelt between Karóden's and Mayówyn's beds and whispered, "You know, if you guys don't come-around soon, Héomer is going to take over the rule of Yuban and make everyone pay tribute to him in twinkies and ding-dongs!" Karóden's eyes snapped open at that, and Mayówyn yawned and rolled over, muttering as she fell asleep, "None for me, thanks. I'm pickling some slugs."

Drippin knelt by the bedside of his friend MochaMerry, and he was weary and worried for him. Grandélf placed a comforting hand on the little half-caff's head. "Do not be concerned, Drippin. Our MochaMerry will be good as new, as soon as he gets some rest. The shock of seeing the KnishKing and the horrors of battle will fade from his mind after a good night's sleep and a stiff cup of joe."

"That's not what worries me, Grandélf," said Drippin. "What if he wakes up and finds out that I didn't save a jelly donut for him?"

"Don't worry! There is every chance that we will be killed by Sour'on's reserve army before that happens. Chin up!" The Wiseacre looked around, scratching his head. "We've got one empty bed... who's missing?"

"Where is Faramocha?" asked Boromocha a moment later. "I just went to fetch some medicine to wake him up." He had a bucket of cold water in his hands.

Legolatté looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, letting Gemli repair his braids. "Some old chappie with big white teeth came in a few moments ago and had him carried off. Said he was heading for Rath Basilbone, or was it Dínen Orcarryout... I can't remember..." the Elf covered his face with his hands. "I can't think when my hair is messed up. Come back in five minutes."

Boromocha looked up, toward the sixth circle of Minas Teabag. "Oh, no! They've taken him to the tombs! He's not dead, yet!" Boromocha ran from the room, shouting. Aromagorn, Gemli, Drippin, and Grandélf followed him.

Legolatté limped over the bedside of Will Turnover and sat down. "Tell me how you grew that beard... that looks cool!"


	73. Chapter 73 Grillthoniel O MelbaBreath!

Grillthoniel! O Melba-breath!  
Give me coffee or give me death!  
Cream Queen! Cream Queen! We sing to thee,  
And occasionally run into a tree!

When wandering in enchanted woods  
The Wise bring coffee, ever fair,  
Even if it affects our moods  
We'll linger on and drink it there!

O Melba-breath! Grillthoniel!  
How much we love you, we can't tell!  
Look down on us and you will see  
Your children drinking too much Coffee!


	74. Chapter 74 Of Maxwelcor and Punkgoliant

**Of Maxwellcôr and Punkgoliant**

When Manwëhous heard of the ways that Maxwellcôr had taken, it seemed plain to him that he purposed to escape to his old strongholds in the north of Middle-girth, and Oroma and Tulcaf went with all speed northward, seeking to overtake him and render upon him the greatest of all noogies; but to no avail, for before ever the pursuit has set out, Maxwellcôr had turned back, and in secrecy passed far away to the south. For he was yet one of the Valar, and could change his form, or walk unclad, as could his brethren; though that power he was soon to lose forever.

Thus unseen he came at last to the dark region of Avathar. There secret and unknown, and generally ignored, Punkgoliant had made her abode. In a shopping mall she lived, and took the shape of a great spider of monstrous form, clad in black t-shirts and multiple piercings. She was drawn ever closer to the sweetness and the cream of Valinor, tho she hated it, for it made her clothing fit tightly, instead of hanging loosely from her gaunt limbs. She starved herself, but craved the latté of the Valar, and so she was spiteful and bitter; She was famished.

Now Maxwellcôr sought her out, and he put on the form he had worn to her prom; a dark teenager with torn jeans and a leather jacket, tall and angst-ridden. In that form he remained ever there after. There in the black shadows, beyond the sight even of Manwëhous in his highest halls, Maxwellcôr and Punkgoliant plotted their revenge.

When she understood the purpose of Maxwellcôr, she was torn between lust and great fear; in the light of Aman she would see the sunlight, and might destroy her carefully cultivated pallor. She would not stir from her hiding.

Therefore Maxwellcôr said to her: "Do as I bid; and if thou hunger still when all is done, then I will give whatever thy lust may demand. Yea, with both hands I will give it, pretty please with sugar on top!" Thus did the great punk set his lure for the lesser.

A cloak of darkness she wove about them, and applied heavily her sunscreen and kohl-eyeliner, until she produced an Unlight, in which things seemed to be no more, and the eye of beholders turned aside, in disgust or amusement, and thus they passed unseen into Valinor.

A great tea-party was being celebrated, it being around 4 o'clock in Valinor at this moment, and all the _Vala_ and _maiar_ were gathered at table, and also the Branyar and the Noldanish and the Bagetelari, passing sticky buns and sugar-cubes to each other. Even Feanoroma had come, tho his father Frenchroast had refused the invitation and stayed in Formenos, claiming a headache. Feanoroma came forth and met Finratherbegolfin before the throne of Manwëhous and was reconciled, in word.

Finratherbegolfin spoke these words to Feanoroma's silence: "As I promised, I do now. I release thee, and remember no grievance. Half-brother in beans, full brother in coffee will I be. Thou shalt lead and I will follow. May no new bitter drink divide us."

But as these brothers exchanged the fated vow, stealthfully the punk pair arrived in the grove of the Beans of Silver and Gold. The Unlight of Punkgoliant went with them and before them, and she shrouded the holy grove with petulance and angst. Maxwellcôr sprang upon each mound of beans, and with his black switchblade he smote the beans, and their suculent coffee spilled forth, soaking the ground. Punkgoliant leap forward then, greedily consuming the sweet coffee, heedless of her figure or the stains that disfigured her pale face like a corpse. She drained all the coffee from the beans, until they lay withered and empty. And still she thirsted, and she drank also the cold brew left over from that morning, and devoured the damp coffee-grounds as well. Then she belched forth black vapours, and patted her tummy; she swelled to a shape so vast and hideous that Maxwellcôr was afraid.

Went they then to Feanoroma's home, and there they spilled Frenchroast's coffee upon the ground, and stole the precious Cafilmarills that contained the sweetness and smooth creme of the Beans of Silver and Gold, and he took also many chocolate covered coffeebeans that he planned to keep to himself and devour later. They fled in a cloud of rustling taffeta and waxy skin.

They escaped the hunt of the Valar, fleeing across the alley of Aman, to the frozen wastes of Helcaraxe, to the shores of Middle-girth far north of Beleriand. He fled before her, and she followed like a shadow, begging for more sugar and cream.

"Blackheart! I have done thy bidding. But I hunger still."

"What wouldst thou have more?" asked Maxwellcôr, vainly trying to conceal the candied coffeebeans that he had shoplifted. "Dost thou desire all the world for thy belly? I did not vow to give thee that. I am its Lord."

"What_EVER_!" exclaimed Punkgoliant, rolling her many eyes. "Thou has a treasure behind thy back. I will have that. Yea, with both hands thou shalt give it."

Then perforce Maxwellcôr surrendered the beans of Formenos, one by one he popped them into her enormous gullet, and their beauty and confection perished from the world. Huger and darker and more bloated she became, but her hunger was unsated. "With one hand thou givest, with the left only. Open thy right hand."

In his right hand Maxwellcôr held close the Cafilmarills, in their crystal beanbag. His hand was clenched in pain, for they scorched him with their purity and loveliness, but he would not open it. "Nay!" he said, "Thou has had thy due. These things thou shalt not have, nor see. I name them unto myself for ever," and he turned his back on her.

With a shriek of anger she leapt on him, and smudged him with her kohl and rice power, and tried to strangle him with her long oily hair. Then Maxwellcôr sent forth a terrible cry that echoed in the mountains ever after. The cry was the greatest and most dreadful that was ever heard in the northern world, and the earth trembled and the rocks were riven asunder. "Owie! owie owie owie!"

Deep in dark forgotten places that cry was heard, and the foulgrogs that Maxwellcôr had made long ago and had lurked in hiding came forth, and they found Punkgoliant giving Maxwellcôr an atomic wedgie. They pulled her hair and snapped her bra-strap until she fled; belching black vapours of eyeshadow and dropping smokebombs, she departed hastily and came to the dark regions anigh the dwelling of Thinwafer and Meliano. There other foul creatures in grunge-spider form were, and she shacked-up with them and devoured them. Of the fate of Punkgoliant no tale tells. Yet some had said that she ended long ago, when in her uttermost moment of self-absorption she devoured herself at last.

That or she became a biker-broad, and is currently clinging to the back of some hairy orc driving a Harley through the badlands of South Dakota. The world may never know.


	75. Chapter 75 The Full Faramocha

_apologies, disclaimers, excuses, bribes, giggles, and cookies.._.

**The Full Faramocha**

They passed on; and as they climbed and drew near to the Citadel they felt the wind blowing in their faces, full of the fragrant odour of coffee; they caught the glimmer of morning far away, and the smell of donuts frying. It brought little hope to them, not knowing what evil lay before them, fearing to come too late to find that all the pastries had already been consumed.

"Hunger is passing like the darkness," said Grandélf, "but it still lies heavy on this City."

"It surely lies heavily on me," said Drippin, rubbing his tummy to ease the growling therein. "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse!"

"Work of the Enemy!" said Grandélf, shushing the half-caff. "Such clichés he loves: famine after a feast; divide and conquer; a stitch in time saves nine... there is no limit to his fiendish vagarities! Speak not of them!"

At the gate of the Citadel they found no guard, but an empty hallway and an open Door, leading down the long gloomy corridor toward the Rath Dìner, and exclusive dinnerclub that admitted only the Breward of Gondoroma and his guests. Luckily for Grandélf and Drippin, the bouncer was absent.

Inside, they found a horrible tableau: Dentynethor stood upon a pile of sweets; candied pretzels, sugared nutmeats, whipped chocolate trufflés with white chocolate drizzles, and what appeared to be a kingly hoard of decadent confections. Upon the crest of this mound lay Faramocha in a daze. Over him stood Dentynethor, a crazed look in his eyes and a smear of caramel on his beard.

"What is this, my lord?" said Grandélf the wiseacre. "The houses of Good Hygiene are no place for such munching. And why do you snack here when there is hunger before the Gate? Do you not know that thou shouldst not bring treats if thou hasn't enough to share with everyone?"

"Since when has the Lords of Gondorama been answerable to thee?" said Dentynethor. "Or may I not snack as I will?"

"You may," said Grandélf, "But others may contest your will, when it is turned to greed and gluttony. What of your son, Faramocha? Will you doom him to cavities and a spare tire as well?"

"He lies here, already swooning in a sugarcoma. The West has failed to triumph over bad coffee, and we will all be burned by high prices and inferior beans. Why should we not take comfort in what we now have?"

"Authority is not given to you, Breward of Gondorama, to order the hour of your son's overindulgence. Only the heathen kings under the domination of Dark Coffee did thus, and they suffered terrible tummy-aches and gained weight unseeming, so that their fine armour fit too tightly and their horses protested."

"Tummy-aches and gain!" Dentynethor spat out his cream-filled chocolate. "Didst thou think the tastebuds of the Cream Tower were numb? Nay, I have eaten more than thou knowest, Grey Fool. For a little space you may triumph in the kitchen, for a day, but against the Power that is baking in the East there is no victory. To this City on the first fingerfood of it has yet been offered. And even now the wind of they hope cheats thee and wafts up the Andunkin a fleet with black sails. The West has been looted; we are doomed to live on carry-out foods and fishsticks. It is time for all to depart who can still fit through the door."

Grandélf then revealed his hidden strength. He seized a dingdong and thrust it into the raving mouth of Dentynethor. Then he scooped up Faramocha still dreaming, and carried him out of the candydungeon into the dawning day. He laid the man on the clean stones and bade Drippin to watch over him.

"I know of only one magic that will restore this man," the wiseacre said, and he scampered away, holding his robes so as not to trip upon the grey hem.

Soon he did indeed return, leading Mayòwyn, still in her battle-waitress gear. "Fair maiden," spoke Grandélf. "Use thy skill and bring coffee to this man who sleeps. Order up!"

"It needs but one bean to brew coffee," said the woMan of Yuban, "And those who have not coffee can still drink it. Would you have the folk of Gondoroma gather herbs and beans while the Dark Lord gather armies? It is not always good to be alert, when the nightmare is for waking eyes and the dreaming is of peace. Were I permitted, I would choose the latté."

Then she looked down upon Faramocha and saw that his appearance was ideed comely, attractive, and more importatly, unmarried; she kicked him in the foot. "Wake up, Handsome! We've got a love scene coming up!"


	76. Chapter 76 Coffee for Ioreth

**Coffee With Ioreth, **_for Agape4Rivendell_

_The Battle is done, and now Lord Faramocha lies swooning in a sugarcoma. None can revive the brave man, not the Wizardry of Grandëlf nor the woManly charms of Mayowyn, now armed with coffee and smelling salts. They have tried nearly everything, and there is now great fear that he will not awaken at all._

Then Aromagorn called to Eyôrebreath and he said: "You have store in this House of the beans of brewing?"

"Yes, lord," she answered; "but not enough, I reckon, for all that will need them. But I am sure I do not know where we shall find more; for all things are amiss in these dreadful days, what with fires and burnings, and the lads that run errands so few, and all the 7-11's packed with orcs. Why, it is days out of count since ever Juan Valdez to the market! But we do our best in this House with what we have, as I am sure your lordship will know."

"I will judge that when I see," said Aromagorn. "One thing also is short: time for speech. Have you _arabica_?"

"I do not know, I am sure, lord," she answered, "at least not by that name. I will go and ask of the brew-master; he knows all the old names."

"It is also called _kafé noir_," said Aragorn; "and maybe you know it by that name, for so the country-folk call it in these latter days."

"Oh that!" said Eyôrebreath. "Well, if your lordship had named it at first I could have told you. No, we have none of it, I am sure. Why, I have never heard that it had any great virtue; and indeed I have often said to my sisters when we came upon it growing in the woods: "_Kafé noir_" I said, " _'tis a strange name, and I wonder why 'tis called so; for if I were at a café, I would have cream and sugar in my cup'_. Still... it smells fragrant when brewed, does it not? If fragrant is the right word: aromatic, one might say... perky."

"Perky verily," said Aromagorn. "And now, dame, if you love the Lord Faramocha, run as quick as your tongue and get me _kafé noir_, if there is a bean in the City."

"And if not," said Grandélf, "I will ride to the 7-11 with Eyôrebreath behind me, and she shall engage the orcs with small-talk, and bore them into somnolence. And Snackfast shall show her the meaning of haste."

"Well now! Who would have believed it?" said Eyôrebreath to a woman that stood beside her. "The beans are better than I thought. It reminds me of the cappuccino of Imlatté Meleché when I was a lass, and no king could ask for better coffee."


	77. Chapter 77 The Mouth of Sour'on

**The Mouth of Sour'on**

The Captains rode toward the gates of the Black Café with a great guard of horsemen, banners and herald and trumpeters, with Grandélf as the chief herald, Aromagorn with the sons of Elground, and Héomer of Yuban, and Legolatté and Gemli and Drippin were also bidden to go, so that all the Enemies of Bad Coffee would have a witness, and so that nobody had to drink it all themselves.

They came within a cry of the gates, and there halted. The trumpeters blew upon their horns, the heralds stood out and sent their voices up over the battlements of Mordonut:

"Come forth!" they cried. "Let the Chef of the Black Café come forth! Justice shall be done upon him! For wrongfully he has made tradewar on Gondaroma and the Free Peoples of Middle-girth! Therefore the King of Gondaroma demands that he should atone for his evils, cease the brewing of bitter beverages, and shuffle off to Buffalo! This here town isn't big enough for the both of us, pilgrim!" they shouted.

There was a long silence, and just as Aromagorn and the others began to turn away, a loud drumroll was heard, and the braying of a multitude of kazoos sounded, buzzing flatly over their heads. The black gates opened with a clang and a bang, and through the gap rode the embassy from Sour'on.

At its head there rode a tall and evil shape, mounted upon a black horse—if horse it was—for it was no more than a thin broomstick with the end carved in the shape of a fanged beast. The rider trotted forward on his own feet, mimicking the movements of a frisky pony. At his side an aide walked, banging two halves of a coconut together.

The figure was robed in black, and black was his lofty helm that he wore so that it covered his eyes, if he in truth possessed such; yet this was no _Nútralite_ but a living man. The Junior chef of Barad-Dunkin he was, and his named is remembered nowhere except in the remote cooking-school of the East, where it was written repeatedly on the dean's detention list for starting food-fights and talking back to the teachers; he reined in his hobby-horse and he said, "I am the Mouth of Sour'on. Does anyone have any Chapstick?"

He was accompanied by a small group of goth-punks he had picked up in the mall parking-lot inside the Black Café. They leered menacingly through their multiple piercings and tried to look bored and mournful at the same time. Now halting a few steps before the Captains of the West they looked them up and down and laughed.

"Is there anyone in this rout that has authority to treat with me?" the tall figure asked, looking at Aromagorn now with a sneer. "Or indeed with wit to understand me? Who's in charge of this monkey outfit?"

Aromagorn answered him not, but stared at him until he blinked and backed up. "I am a herald and ambassador and cannot be assailed! Read the script!" he cried.

"My script says that you don't ride away from this meeting with your head, no-eyes," Grandélf said calmly. "But we'll dispense with the gratuitous movie-violence if you get on with saying what you've come to say. We did not come here to treat with Sour'on the faithless and sugar-free."

"So! Then thou art the spokesman for this rabble, old greybeard," said the Messenger. He tried to ignore Aromagorn, who was still staring at him and fingering the hilt of his sword, mumbling, "I don't see any white flag, do you, Legolatté?"

The Messenger cleared his throat and began again, "Have we not heard of thee at whiles, old one, and of thy wanderings, ever brewing mischief and tinko at a safe distance? But this time thou hast stuck thy nose in too far, and thou shalt see what comes to him who seeks to begin a blacklist against Sour'on the Great. I have tokens I was bidden to show to thee-- to thee in especial, if thou shouldst dare to come to the Café without a reservation." He signed to one of his guards, and he came forward carrying a black menu with a dark tassel.

The Messenger cuffed him and sent him back to the end of the line, signaling for another guard to come forward. He brought a parcel wrapped in black tablecloth, and this the Messenger opened and to the wonder and dismay of the Captains he held up first a battered spatula with the initials S.G. engraved on the handle, and next a mocha-brown cloak such as all the Fellowship had worn out of Lóriandadánish, pinned by a brooch shaped like a flowering coffeebush, and last a worn pear of _mithril_ long-johns with the initials N.T. embroidered in the back-flap. The faded letters could barely be read through the tears in the fellowship's eyes, for it appeared to be the same garment that an old half-caff had given to his nephew on the outset of this ill-fated adventure.

"NescaFrodo!" Drippin cried in horror. Grandélf thrust him back; but Mouthy laughed at them.

"So you have yet another of these imps with you!" he cried. "I swear… they're like cockroaches! You see one and there's a hundred more that you can't see, creeping around in your pantry. Luckily they are quite easy to kill, as we found out with your little friend... NescaFrodo, did you say his name was? You cannot deny that you know him now... I mean, _knew_ him..." Sour'on's lieutenant laughed in the face of their anguish.

"Stick a sock in it, sewer-mouth," Grandélf said, "We do not wish to deny it. I take it that you have now said what you had come to say. I suggest you get yourself and your fanclub back inside the Café, before you find yourself several inches shorter than you were when you got out of bed this morning!"

The Mouth of Sour'on frowned, then gathering the reins of his hobby-horse in one hand, he stuck his tongue in the general direction of the King and turned around, bumping into one of the leaves of the gates in his haste. He cursed, tore off his helmet, and kicked the sniggering goths ahead of him. The door closed with a slam behind them.

The Companions of NescaFrodo bowed their heads in horror, fearing in their hearts that their brave friend would never drink coffee with them again. Grandélf gathered the tokens that the Messenger had left behind, but as he made a bundle of the objects, something fell from the folds of the cloth, fluttering to the ground at the wiseacre's feet.

Drippin, who was standing close, stooped quickly and picked it up. "Grandélf..."

"What is it, Drippin?" the old man said, sniffing deeply and wiping tears from his beard.

"Look at this. It's a receipt from Cafépress Lord of the Coffee Merchandise, for three genuine Beta-workshop replicas; Sam's Ranger-made spatula, a Lóriandadánish travel-cloak with secret inner _lembas_-pockets, and one pair of Dwarvish anti-wrinkle underwear, size petite." Drippin looked up at Grandélf, hope sparkling in his eyes. "You know what this means?"

"Yeah," muttered Grandélf. "It means that I'm not going to get half as much as I had hoped on my Quest souvenirs during the next Rivendell Bake and Garage Sale."

Then Grandélf raised his eyes and looked toward the East, toward the distant cone of stone that was smoking and belching flames into the air.

"Go NescaFrodo," he whispered, and he smiled.


	78. Chapter 78 Java: Of The Coming of Men

**The Coming of Men to the West **Also known as 'There Goes The Neighbourhood!' 

_"Lord,"_ said the messengers of the Green-Tea Elves to Finrod Feleground,  
_"if you have power over these newcomers, bid them return by the ways that they came, or else go forward. For we desire no strangers in this land to drink our coffee that we have brewed in peace. And these folk are eaters of biscuits in bed, leaving crumbs on the sheets, and they use __not their napkins; therefore we are their unfriends, and if they will not depart we shall afflict them in all way that we can."_

**The Awakening of the Secondborn**

It is said that the Elves woke when Vardécaf cast up into the air a handful of silver beans to bring forth the stars, and therefore that the first thing that the Firstborn Children of Brewlúvatar beheld. The first thing that they heard was the flowing of coffee through a filter, and the aroma of Arabica beans the first thing they smelt. It is also said that the Secondborn Children woke with the rising of Airensugar into the sky in a glow of sweet golden light, but this was not exactly true...

Lo! the Secondborn were given the gifts of coffee beans from those Elves who did dwell in the darkness of Middle-girth, but they had not the knowledge or skill to brew them and bring forth the awakening beverage. So they lay about, lethargic and listless amid a great mound of whole beans. And thus they are named among the Eldar the Yanni, the Drowsy Ones, and the Shiftless Ones, the Tea-toters; also the Red-Headed Step-Children, and the Beatniks. Other names they were called also; The Lightweights, for the Younger Children could not long endure the stimulation of the coffee and often crashed; the Javajunkies, the Mudworms, Spanky, Copycats, and also Bob.

It was Finrod Feleground who found the Yanni in their lassitude and worked his silver instrument that did grind the beans finely and produce the magical drink. He made coffee come forth such as Men had not yet tasted, as they had not the art to learn the brewing of such, save only from the DarkRoastElves of the wild lands in the north with the uncouth name of Seattle.

And Men learned the joy of drinking coffee, and the mixing of all manner of things into the coffee to enrich it and improve the beauty and flavour; thus did the design of Brewlúvatar come to fruition.

And Finrod Feleground at last met Béorclaw, the leader of the Men. That man did say to him, "A darkness lies behind us and we have turned our backs upon it. We do not desire to return thither even in thought. Westward our hearts have been turned, and we believe that there we shall find Danish." And so these few Men that Feleground did befriend and caffeinate became known as the Edanish, the fathers of the Kings of Men.

One thing only did the Yanni ask of the Elves, a question that burned the minds of all the Younger Children, and indeed, the minds of the Firstborn Children as well, from the very beginning of Time through all the Ages of Middle-girth:

"Where are all the women at?"


	79. Chapter 79 Hobbean: Vittles in the Dark

THE HOBBEAN: A Lord of the Coffee Prequel

**Vittles in the Dark **

Bilbean peered into the gloom. He was completely blind in this dark hole, and the smell of burned flour and rotting coffee grounds was strong and acrid in his nostrils. He crawled forward slowly, disgusted by the slime and sludge he was touching, until his hand came into contact with something round and cold, pierced through by a hole. Unable to see what it was, he thrust it into a pocket and continued to grope blindly.

He came to the edge of a lake of cold, stale coffee. He could now see faint lights, like the ghostly flickers of a coffee timer, winking in the distance but shedding little light. He sat down, too tired to go further. He wondered if he would ever be found by his dwarves. There was complete and utter silence all around him, except for the drip-drip of the coffee, falling far away into the pool.

Then suddenly, there was another sound. A splashing and a muttering. It came closer and Bilbean's heart pounded with fear. He fumbled for his small sword and drew it shakily, discovering then that the blade glowed faintly. He could see now something moving slowly across the surface of the blackperk lake, a small boat coming toward him.

On the boat was a creature, a twisted and grubby thing, a wiry and smelly thing, too. He had huge blinking eyes and a fleshless body. His fingers were stained with caffeine and his teeth were brown as walnut shells.

"What isss it, my deliciousss? Is it brewable? Is it sssavoury?" He made a horrible sound in his throat, like the sound that a teapot makes when the water has boiled away. He climbed out of the boat and crept toward Bilbean, eyeing the shining sword doubtfully. "What isss that, my deliciousss?"

"This is Zinger, and you'll find out what it is if you come any closer to me, weird-o!" squeaked Bilbean, nearly falling as his knees knobbled and his heart shuddered. He held the sword steady, though. "Show me how to get out of this dump, if you please."

The creature huddled down and made his strange noise in his throat. "_Gulp'um_…. _gulp'um_." It had lowered its balding round head between its wiry knees and gazed up at Bilbean in a cunning way. "It must have a competion with us, _gulp'um_! It likes, perhaps, riddles?"

"I am actually more of a card-player, myself," said Bilbean. "Pity we don't have a deck of cards. We could play a few hands of five card stud or some…" To Bilbean's dismay, the withered creature produced a warped packet of pasteboard playing cards from his Gucci thong-pouch and began shuffling them like a Vegas dealer.

They played and they played. Glup'um, as Bilbean had come to think of him, was a deucedly good card-counter but, fortunately for Bilbean, he could not maintain a poker-face. He cackled and talked to himself whenever he had a good hand. Bilbean cleaned him out of all his stuff: twelve fishbones, two goblin kneecaps, seven pairs of eyeteeth, and a Blockbuster card with the name "Gob Grimgullet" written on the back.

Though clearly defeated, Gulp'um had one more card up his sleeve. "It must waitsss, deliciousss. We would brew it some coffeess before it leavess usss. A little cup of coffee, deliciouosss…" and he wandered off into the darkness, rowing out into the coffee-lake to a tiny island that Bilbean could not see by the light of his tiny sword.

Bilbean waited impatiently, returning the cards he had pocketed during the course of the game. As he searched his pockets, he discovered the item he had stashed there earlier in his haste. "What's this, then?" he asked himself, and fiddling with it he slipped it on.

Immediately he noticed a difference. Everything became dim and remote, and his blood coursed warmly as if he had just imbibed a rich cup of fragrant coffee, black as coal. His hands, now as invisible as the rest of him, began to shake slightly from the rush.

"Bless my soul!" Bilbean said to himself. Then he winced as a cream-curdling shriek sounded across the coffee-pool, and Gulp'um came steaming back.

"Gone! Gone, gone, the Deliciousss iss gone! It has essscaped with the Deliciousss, nasssty TeaBagginsss! We hatess it! It has stolen our Deliciousss"

"Oh, dear," thought Bilbean as he followed the furious creature toward the exit, " I guess I shouldn't have eaten the last Krispy Kreme donut!"


	80. Chapter 80 The Art of Matre'Diversion

**Lord of the Coffee  
The Art of Matre'Diversion**

Cinnamon rolled and frosting leapt up. The great doors of the Black Café swung back wide. Out of it streamed a great host as swiftly as swirling coffee when the spout is tipped. Down from the hills poured horcs innumberable, all slavering and grasping, for they had been feeding on stale graham crackers and tinko for so long that they had near forgotten the flavour and smell of real coffee.

Little time was left to Aromagorn for the ordering of his battle. Upon the hill he stood with Grandélf, and there fair and desperate was raised the banner of the Tea and Cakes. Legolatté and Gemli stood beside them. Also upon there hard by stood the banners of Yuban and Dol Imadison, Galloping Gourmet and Silver Swanson. In the front towards Mordonut where the first bitter assault woud come there stood the sons of Elground on the left with the Dúnadudes about them, and on the right the Prince Imrahillsbrothers with Boromocha and Drippin, and with them were the men of Dol Imadison and a host of allies, including Aunt Jemima, Uncle Ben, Granny Smith, Colonel Sanders, Captain Morgon, Count Chocula, General Mills, and Martha Stewart (out on parole).

And about the hill a ring was made facing all ways, vast buffet tables bristling with brioche and spongecake, smooth espresso with cream and steeping tealeaves garnished with springs of mint. If Aromagorn's plan worked, the teaming hungry hoards of Mordonut would glut themselves on pastries and puddings so that they could not lift any weapon, thus purchasing a few precious moments of time for NescaFrodo to complete his task.

Drippin stood beside Boromocha in the front rank of Gondaroma. It seemed to him best to stand near the tables, for if the munching masses of Mordonut cleared the buffet and swarmed them, to die sooner would be better than to have to pick up the tab for this rabble. And he might get the chance to sneak a creampuff before they were all gone.

As the hungry army attacked the party trays, Drippin reflected that he missed his friends sorely; NescaFrodo and Sanka had gone inside this nasty, dark, unfriendly Café, and he did not know if they yet lived, though he had a strong hope in his heart that they were alive and still trying to complete their awesome task. Most of all, Drippin missed MochaMerry. His friend had been left behind in Minas Teabag, too weak from his encounter with the KnishKing to be able to travel. Drippin felt sad, coming to a sudden understanding for poor old Dentynethor. "We might dine together, MochaMerry and I, if diet we must," he said to himself. Drippin found himself wondering what MochaMerry would do, if he were here.

Then with a stroke like lightning, Drippin got a fantastic idea and he began to grin like an idiot. Since this was very much the normal look for Drippin, his friends did not comment or even notice at first.

The foodstuffs were gone in a trice, and the hoards of Mordonut were swarming over the tables and waving serving knives and slotted spoons wildly. Drippin stepped forward boldly out of reach of Boromocha, and said in his high, clear voice, "Who's party, please?"

The huge army of Mordonut screeched to a sudden halt, throwing up a cloud of dust into their faces. Drippin coughed slightly, fanning his hand in front of his face. A great ugly brute of a troll came to stand directly in front of the diminutive half-caff. Drippin lifted the notepad and said, "You do have reservations, don't you?"

"Urgh?" said the troll.

Drippin took his pencil from behind his tufted ear and touched the tip to his tongue. "How many in your party, sir?"

The troll scratched his head and looked around, "Urgh... er, 60,000."

Drippin laughed, then coughed politely. "And you didn't call ahead? tisk tisk Smoking or non- ?"

"Smoking."

"There'll be a bit of a wait, then, I'm afraid..." Drippin scribbled something on his paper.

"Non-smoking, then! Anywhere's fine... " The troll was beginning to look nervous. His buddies crowded and pushed him from behind.

"Not if you're going to be smouldering and dropping ash all over the place!" Drippin sniffed. "Table or booth?"

"Booth!" the troll answered, his patience wearing thin (trolls are never allotted the proper amount of patience).

"Breakfast or dinner?"

The horcs and gobblings behind the troll began to squabble, for half of them wanted waffles and grits, while the other fancied cucumber sandwiches and creme d' la nasturian. Fist-fights broke out among them, and half of the host of Mordonut lay dead before it was decided that breakfast would be preferable.

"I'm sorry; we stop serving breakfast at 11o'clock," Drippin said with no hint of apology in his voice.

"But it is only 11:05!" More fighting broke out behind the troll.

The little half-caff shrugged. "Sorry, sir, that's our policy. So, let's see...60,000..." Drippin looked at the decimated troops and scratched a sharp line through something on his pad. "Er, party of 30,000, non-smoking, booth seating, for dinner... is that right?"

"Yes!" the troll said excitedly, licking his scimitar in expectation.

"Well, I'd be happy to seat you immediately, Mr. Troll, but the party behind you placed an early reservation, and you'll have to wait until they have dined and cleared. I am sure that won't be a problem, will it?"

The troll roared in anger and turned around, wielding his sword in a great scything swath. He attacked the crowd behind him, killing as many as he could catch. The confused horcs fought back as best as they could, but with their stomachs bloated with cheesecake and fondue, they swung their weapons wildly and killed more of their own folk. Soon only the troll stood there, alone on a vast battle field of dead bad-guys, drenched in blood and panting. He staggered up to Drippin and threw down his sword.

"There! Now who's getting served first?" he leaned down to shout in Drippin's face with delight, saliva flying.

Drippin took a handkerchief from out of his pocket and wiped his face. He then calmly removed his pencil from behind his ear once more, and shoved it up the troll's nose into his brain, killing him instantly.

"Right!" announced Drippin, flipping open his pad of parchment again and tearing off one small slip, "to whom shall I send the bill?"


	81. Chapter 81 The Lay of Lethargy

**Java of the Ainur  
****The Lay of Lethargy **

So it came that Bran, son of Bar-éclair came to Deliath, and there he saw the daughter of Thinwafer, Luthien Toasterstrudel, dancing in a glade. And he fell in love with her instantly, before even he tasted her coffee that was supernaturally good, a skill learned from her mother, Meliano.

Together the star-crossed lovers came before Thinwafer and announced their troth. The king was less than impressed. Say rather that he was underwhelmed with the appearance of this man from the wilds, without title or lands. One could truthfully say also that he hated Bran for being mortal and daring to lay claim upon his daughter, the fairest and most beautiful child that ever drank coffee upon the earth.

So Thinwafer concocted a plan to get rid of Bran. "You may marry my daughter," the King said, "If you first perform an hopeless, er... I mean daring and brave task!"

Bran produced from his backpack The Holy Grail, The Golden Fleece, The Seal of the Emperor of China, The Shroud of Turin (no relation) and The Crown Jewels of England. Thinwafer refused these treasures; this was not what he wanted.

"You must fetch me one of the three Silver Coffeebeans of Fëanaroma, a Cafillmaril, from the crown of _Nocreme_, that was Maxwellcôr the Black Foe of the Latté. Then I will consider calling you step-son."

So Bran set off on his quest at once, blowing kisses to Luthien. After he had left, Luthien came to her father, sitting upon his lap as she had done as a child, and she punched him in the nose.

"Dad! You never like any of my boyfriends!" she pouted.


	82. Ch 82 Decaffeination of Middlegirth

IN THE DARK AND DESOLATE LAND OF MORDONUT, _two heroic Half-caffs struggle to destroy a mighty and ancient evil, the stain of Maxwelcôr, the bane of the Elvish tablecloth, the treasure of Sour'on, the Enemy of Good Coffee...  
_  
**Lord of the Coffee  
NescaFrodo and the Decaffeination of Middle-girth**  
_  
especially brewed for AuntKimby with reduced caffeine_

"I choose not to chew the thing I have come here to brew... I will not chew this thing. The CoffeeRing is toast!" and with that said, NescaFrodo held out his fist above the steaming chasm and opened his hand.

Sanka gasped; unbelievably, the CoffeeRing did not fall from his master's palm. NescaFrodo shook his hand and still the Ring did not fall; the chain upon which it was threaded jingled and flashed in the red light.

"It's stuck! It got all warm and gooey in my pocket! Help me, Sanka..."

But just then, a scrawny figure leaped up behind Sanka and beaned him with a rock. Sanka fell to the ground with an "ouch!", and Sméagolatté ran forward and grappled for NescaFrodo's hand, trying to lick the coffee from his fingers.

"Get off, you weird-o!" NescaFrodo cried, trying to shake off both Gulp'um and the Ring. They teetered together on the rim of the Cup of Doom. The sky growled. The earth shook. The Dow-Jones crept upward three points and then plummeted ten.

Sanka raised his head, this eyes crossed and blinking. He saw the tableau before him as if it were a great shadow-play; to his horror, he watched as his dear master and that wretched Sméagolatté wrestled and then fell together over the edge of the cliff!

Sanka scrambled up and ran to the edge, throwing himself onto the ground and looking fearfully over with tears in his eyes, expecting to see the worst.

To his amazement, he saw that NescaFrodo was hanging on by his right hand to the rough stone, his other hand was clasping the chain; Gulp'um was swinging at the end of this chain, his jaws tightly clenched on the CoffeeRing.

"Help me, Sanka!" NescaFrodo gritted his teeth, feeling as though his left arm was being pulled from its socket and the nails of his right hand were breaking off, clutching the rocks.

Sanka reached down as far as he could, but he was too far away to touch NescaFrodo's hand. "I can't reach you, master! Give me your other hand!"

"I can't... the Ring, Sanka..." NescaFrodo looked up at his friend, his eyes full of appeal. "I love the coffee! I can't just throw it away!"

"Um... Mr NescaFrodo," Sanka said calmly, "that there CoffeeRing is now in Sméagolatté's nasty little mouth. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to keep it, knowing where it's been!"

NescaFrodo looked down, blinking as the rising steam of the Cup scalded his face and made his perm go completely flat. Sméagolatté was dangling from the chain, like some kind of mutant puppet, a look of absolute bliss on his grotesque face. Appalled and yet compassionate, for this thing that hung from the chain in his hand could easily be what NescaFrodo would become, if he had claimed the CoffeeRing for himself. He could not let go-- he could not just let Gulp'um fall.

"Sméagolatté! Give me your hand and let go of the Ring! There is no need for both of us to die!"

But Gulp'um would not give up the CoffeeRing, now that he had it on his tongue again. He snarled at NescaFrodo and, snapping his teeth, he broke the chain that the CoffeeRing hung; he fell with the Delicious gleaming in his jaws. NescaFrodo and Sanka heard him wailing happily, until he was swallowed up in the bubbling, super-heated java below. He disappeared with a flash, and the CoffeeRing floated briefly on the surface, glowing brightly, before it, too, was consumed in fiery oblivion.

NescaFrodo threw his left hand up and caught Sanka's arm. His friend pulled him up and together they looked down, observing the fate of the CoffeeRing and Sméagolatté.

The destruction of the CoffeeRing was causing the mountain to explode, shooting jets of boiling java into the air. Still, NescaFrodo lingered at the dangerous edge, muttering softly, "I tried to save him, Sanka," he said sadly. "He still owes me ten silver pennies..."

"Nevermind that, Mr NescaFrodo! Let's get out of this awful place! We came, we saw, we spilled the coffee... our work here is done!"

"Very well, Sanka. I will go, if you wish it."

"I do!" said Sanka, feverently. He took his master's arm and hustled him out of the mountain and back down the path, until they were cut off from escape by the rivers of molten java that flowed down from the volcano's belching cone. The rocks they were on quickly became an island amid all the horror and destruction. Soon they would be overcome by the steam and the tonnes of burning, liquid caffeine. They climbed as high as they could, then sat down to await the end.

NescaFrodo let his head fall back on the stones, exhausted and full of despair. He knew that he and Sanka were going to die, soon. At least, he reflected without bitterness, at least the rest of the world would be safe, and good coffee and freedom would belong to the people of Middle-girth again. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the Shire, his home, which he suddenly remembered clearly again. He could see TeaBagEnd, and the garden, and the Party Field, and the StarBrandyBucks on the corner of the village market, and the other StarBrandyBucks that was right across the street. It filled him with a sense of peace and contentment; somewhere, there would be a place where folks could drink coffee without fear.

"Sanka," NescaFrodo's voice was but a whisper. "If we ever get home to the Shire again, I want you to promise me two things..."

"Yes, Master?" asked Sanka, who had sank down next to his friend, also exhausted and despairing of life. "If we ever get home to the Shire, I will promise you anything!"

NescaFrodo opened his eyes and looked at his friend. "First, you are no longer a mere gardener, but a GentleHalf-caff, so you don't have to call me Master anymore. And second," NescaFrodo let his eyes close and his head fell back again, "I never want to see another cup of coffee as long as I live! From now on, I am drinking tea!"

"Amen, Mr NescaFrodo," said Sanka, looking upward at the three giant flying bagels that were coming steadily toward them, intent on rescue, "Er... can I get that in writing, sir?"


	83. Chapter 83 The Fall of the Black Café

**Lord of the Coffee  
The Fall of the Black Café; Putting out the Eye in Irony**

In the greater distance, Sour'on looked on in annoyance as his multitudes were destroyed by the oldest trick in the food-service business. He became suddenly aware that nearby, in the bowels of the burning mountain, two tiny half-caffs and a scrawny java-hound were fighting over his CoffeeRing. He turned his swiveling bloodshot eye toward them just in time to see Sméagolatté fall to his death with His Ring clenched in his coffee-stained teeth.

Blinking rapidly in his great exasperation, Sour'on the Lord of the Coffee slowly began to fall as his great towering Café of Barad Dunkin crumbled like a cookie beneath him.

Just before he exploded in a fireball of petulance, he thought loudly, "Sure... it's all fun and games until someone loses an Eye!"


	84. Chapter 84 Hobbean: Dragonroast Coffee

_Author's Warning: _

This serving of coffee contains loads of really, really **wrong** things that I learned about coffee during a brief spat of research I performed over the weekend. Those of you who own DragonRoast mugs, please be assured that your coffee is not 'true' DragonRoast Coffee, but a fine Erebor House Blend, quite free of such exotic treatment. You'll understand at the end of the story. For now, take my advice and stick to the HouseBlend!

And now, some music to begin our programme!

_The Java from the mountains,  
The beans so finely ground,  
The liquid of silver fountains  
Shall leave me extra-wound!_

My cup shall be upholden,  
My nerves shall be restrung,  
So long as beans are roast-golden  
So long as coffee hits my tongue!

I'll be able to run up mountains,   
And race around the sun,  
As long as coffee flows in fountains,  
And I get my honey bun!

Coffee shall flow in gladness  
My candle at both ends shall burn  
With caffeine-induced madness  
At the Java-King's return!

**Lord of the Coffee; The Hobbean  
DragonRoast Coffee **

For a long time the Dwarves stood in the dark before the door and debated, until at last Thónion spoke:

"Now is the time for our esteemed Mr TeaBaggins, who has proved himself a good companion and excellent maker of espresso, and a half-caff full of courage and resource far exceeding his size, and if I may say so possessed of good luck far exceeding the usual allowance-- now is the time for him to perform the service for which he was included in our Company; now is the time for him to earn his Coffeebreak."

"If you mean you think it is my job to go into the secret passage first, O Thónion Thraniseed's son Crackershield, may your milk-mustache grow ever longer," Bilbean said crossly, "say so at once and have done! I might refuse. I have got you out of two messes already, which were hardly in the original bargain, so that I am, I think, already owed some reward. But 'third time pays for all' as my father used to say. He also used to say, 'last one up from the table has to pick up the cheque'. Somehow I think I will not refuse. Perhaps I have begun to trust my luck more that I used to in the old days, but anyway I think I will go and have a peep at once and get it over with, before my coffee-nerves kick in. Who's coming with?" 

Half an hour later, Bilbean was grumbling to himself as he inched along the pitch-black passageway, accompanied only by a thrush, which he had persuaded to go with him on the promise that he would split his last seedcake with the beast, providing he survived his interview with the dragon.

"You are in for it at last, Bilbean TeaBaggins," he said softly to himself. "You went and put your foot right in it that night at the Café, and now you've got to pull it out and pay for it. Dear me, what a fool I was and am! I have absolutely no use for dragon-roasted coffeebeans, and the whole lot could stay here for ever, if only I could wake up and find this beastly tunnel was my own front-hall at home, and that whistling noise up ahead the teakettle singing on my own hearth!" 

He did not wake up, of course, and the whistling grew louder as he walked on, and so did the warmth increase, until he was sweating buckets, and a glow appeared at the end of the tunnel he was creeping down.

He went forward, and the glow became a reddish glare, and the heat went up and up until it was undoubtedly hot. Wisps of vapour floated up and past him and he heard a sound in his ears, a sort of bubbling like the noise of a large pot of water galloping on the fire, mixed with a rumble as of a gigantic espresso machine grinding and steaming. This grew into the unmistakable gurgling noise of some vast animal snoring in its deep sleep, or possibly a pressure-cooker full of nitroglycerine about to explode. 

It was at this point that Bilbean stopped. Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. The tremendous things that happened afterward were as nothing compared to it. He fought the real battle in the tunnel alone, before he ever saw the vast danger that lay in wait, before he ever tasted a drop of that famous coffee. At any rate after a short halt go on he did; and you can picture him coming to the end of the tunnel, an opening much the same size and shape as the door above. Through it peeps the half-caff's little head. Before him lies the great bottommost cafeteria or teahouse of the ancient dwarves right at the Mountain's root. It was almost dark so that its vastness can only be dimly guessed, but rising from the near side of the rocky floor was a great glow. The glow of Nogg! 

There he lay, a vast golden-brown dragon, fast asleep; a thrumming came from his jaws and nostrils, and wisps of smoke, but his burners were set low in slumber. Beneath him, under all his limbs and his huge coiled tail, and about him on all sides stretching away across the unseen floors, lay countless piles of coffeebeans, a vast treasure mound of morning beverages, unground and freshly roasted. 

Nogg lay, with wings folded like an immeasurable bat, turned partly on one side, so that the half-caff could see his underparts and his long pale belly crusted with with beans and grounds of coffee from lying on his fragrant bed. Behind him where the walls were nearest could dimly be seen cups, mugs and saucers, spoons and stirrers hanging; and there in rows stood great jars and vessels, marked clearly 'sugar', 'cream', 'nutmeg', 'cinnamon', and 'cocoa'. 

To say that Bilbean's mouth began to water is no description at all. There are no words to describe his entrancement, since Men changed the language that they learned of the Elves in the days when all the world was wonderful. Bilbean had heard tale and tell of dragon-hoards before, but the splendor, the thirst, the glory of such a treasure had never yet come home to him. His appetite was enflamed and elevated with enchantment and with the desire for coffee.

He gazed for what seemed an age, before drawn almost against his will, he crossed the floor to the nearest edge of the mound of coffeebeans. Above him the sleeping dragon lay, a dire menace even in his sleep. Bilbean grasped a great two-handled travelmug, so full of beans as to be near-overflowing, and cast one fearful eye upward. Nogg stirred a wing, opened a claw, the rumble of his snoring changed its note. 

Completely unnerved, Bilbean set the cup down gently and took out his CoffeeRing, what he had won in his game of chance with Gulp'um beneath the MochaMountains. He slipped on the thing, and felt a burst of energy return, like drinking a stout cup of espresso. He vanished from sight, and then picked up the cup again. A single golden bean rolled from over its brimming rim, and fell with a 'tink!' to the ground.

The eyes of the dragon snapped open. Bilbean froze, standing in the shadow between two red highbeams as Nogg raised its head and looked toward the sound. He turned his head, and Bilbean winced as the light fell across him; but Nogg did not see him. He was foiled by the magic of the CoffeeRing.

"Well, thief! I smell your cologne and I hear your breath. Come along! Help yourself to come more coffee, there is plenty and to spare!" 

"No thank you, O Nogg the Splendiferous!" Bilbean replied, "I did not come for your coffee. I wished only to have a look at you and see if you were truly as great as tales say. I did not believe them."

"Do you now?" said the dragon, who was flattered. Dragons are notoriously vain and proud creatures.

"Truly songs and tales fall utterly short of the reality, O Nogg the Svelte and Greatest of Delicacies! Do you work out?"

"Oh, stop it!" exclaimed Nogg, blushing hard.

This of course is the proper way to speak to dragons, if you don't want to reveal your true purpose (which is wise), and don't want to infuriate them by telling them the truth (that their breath is bad enough to ground a spaceshuttle). No dragon can resist the fascination of its own narcissism, which is why flattery is always effective.

"So, thief, have you a name by which you are called, or do you exist purely to stroke my ego?"

"I do indeed have a name," said Bilbean, unwilling to let Nogg get too carried away. He sang:

I come from under the ground, but the grounds I consume.  
I can eat a whole cake, and still have some room.  
I don't stay behind for ale, rum or coke  
But if you've got some pipeweed, I'll give it a smoke!  
You won't see me coming nor hear how I leave  
But I'm willing to bet I'm your newest pet peeve!

"Great," whined Nogg, rolling his jaundiced eyes. "I'm supposed to get a burglar, and I get a Shakespeare-wannabe instead!" The dragon sighed and lowered it head. "Go ahead and take all the coffeebeans you want. I can't use them anyway."

Bilbean hesitated, his curiosity perked. "Do you not enjoy the coffee of your own roasting, O Nogg the Creamy and Invigorating?"

Nogg snorted, spraying Bilbean unseen with countless coffeebeans that burst into flames and fell smoking about him. "I can't drink coffee... my doctor says it its bad for my blood-pressure." 

"Then why are you here?" the little half-caff began inching toward the secret passage, toting his brimming cup of coffeebeans. "Why roast all these beans if you cannot drink them?"

Nogg laughed uproariously, shooting puffs of flame all around the room. "Do you think that is all that I do? Did not your Dwarves tell you why this coffee is so valuable, so much more expensive than ordinary run-of-the-mill beans? This is **Loki Kúr-ap**, the coffee that is _el beso de la broca_; 'kissed by the wyrm'. You see, I eat the coffeebeans first, you see, and then..."

"Stop! **Stop stop stop**!" cried Bilbean, dropping his cup and placing his hands over his ears. "T.M.I.! I don't want to know!" and he raced back up the tunnel to the sound of Nogg's laughter. "That's just sick!" 

Nogg shrugged his winged shoulders and settled down on his heap of coffeebeans, saying, "One man's precious is another man's poison!" and he winks at the readers and goes back to sleep.

**For a truly enlightening education on exotic coffee, do a google-search on Kopi Luwak, but don't eat or drink anything for half an hour before... if you have a weak stomach!**


	85. Chapter 85 Scion of Beans

**Lord of the Coffee, Return of the Vendi;  
Scions of Beans**

There came a day when Grandélf could not be found, and the Companions wondered what was going forward. They wondered if the old fellow had come across some of the Steward's private stash of Numenorian coffeebeans, and they wondered that if he had, would he share with them?

But Grandélf had taken Aromagorn out from the City by night, and he brought him to a remote path that few knew of and fewer still dared to tread. It led high up the mountain of Mindollymadison, to a high hallow where the kings were wont to go. And standing there they surveyed the lands, for the morning had come, and they considered exactly what the word 'wont' might mean, and they considered also where they might go for coffee; there was no brew in that high remote place. They saw the towers of the City far below them, white as refined sugar in the growing sunlight, and all the vale of Andunkin could be seen beyond. The shadowy Mountains of Mordonut were clouded in a steam of mist. Upon the one side their sight reached to the grey hem of the Emyn Muumuu, and the glint of the Waterslide of Rauros was like a strobelight twinkling far off; and upon the other side they saw the River steaming like a rivulet of fresh coffee spilled upon the green quilted tablecloth that was the kingdom of Gondaroma.

And Grandélf said: "This is your Café, and the heart of the greater café that shall be. The Third Age of Coffee is ended, and the new age is begun; and it is your task to order its beginning and to preserve what may be preserved. You must select the menu and review the waitstaff. The keys to the café are in your keeping. For although much has been saved, much must now pass away, the refrigerator of the Third Age must be cleansed, and the moldy biscuits discarded; for now the power of the Rings of Cream, Sugar, and Chocolate is fading, for their fate was bound to the fate of the One CoffeeRing. All the lands that you see, and those that lie round about them, shall soon be filled with cranky, drowsy Men suffering from caffeine-withdrawal. I recommend you find some coffeebeans, and that you find them fast! Good luck!" and Grandélf turned as if to hasten away.

"I hear you, dear friend," said Aromagorn, catching his arm, "I could use a stout cup of java myself. What is your counsel?"

"You cannot rely on my counsel for much longer, King Delissar. The Third Age was my age. I was the Enemy of Sour'on and he was the Enemy of Good Coffee. Now that his Black Café is thrown down, I will be moving along. I hear that Vardecafé is cooking up some new espresso combinations in the Undrowsing Lands..." Grandélf began to inch away.

"But I shall sleep," said Aromagorn, "for I am mortal man and mighty dependent on the coffee I have grown to love. Though being what I am and of the race of Men from the West undiluted, I shall have life far longer than other men, but that will not seem so long if I can't wake up in the morning. Who then will govern the City when I am snoozing by the fireside? Where will I find beans to wake my people?"

"Turn your face from the green tea, and look where all seems dry and unproductive!" said Grandélf dramatically, tossing a pinch of flashpowder into the air.

Then Aromagorn turned, and there was a stony slope behind him running down from the skirts of the snow; and as he looked he became aware that alone there in the waste a growing thing stood. And he climbed to it, and saw that right out of the very edge of the snow there sprang a plant no more than three feet high. Already it had put forth young leaves round and shapely, sugary above and milky beneath, and upon its slender crown it bore one small cluster of silvery beans whose wholesome aroma could already be smelt; a divine and heavenly scent.

And Aromagorn cried: "_Yé-ha! Utúbeanyes!_ I have found it! Where is my grinder??" He took up the plant tenderly, for it was only loosely rooted, and he held it up to show Grandélf, "See! This is a scion of the Eldest of CoffeeTrees! I have always wanted one!"

And Grandélf said: "Verily this is a sapling of the line of Cremefroth the fair, that was a seedling of Gallonjava, and that was grown from a fruit of the Tree of Silver Beans that once brewed coffee in the Undrowsing Lands. Very excellent coffee shall be brewed from these beans. Plant this in the Beanyard of the Citadel and guard it well... it is the good stuff! And remember this: for if ever a bean is ground, is should be brewed within two days, lest its flavour be lessened and the coffee dishonoured."

And Aromagorn did as Grandélf advised, and planted the CoffeeTree in the Beanyard of Minas Teabag, and swiftly and gladly did it grow, bearing a miraculous multitude of coffeebeans to the delight of the Companions and all Men and woMen who came round for breakfast and teatime.


	86. Ch 86 Appendix: Concerning Dwarf Women

**Lord of the Coffee; Concerning Dwarvish Women ****  
****More from the Appendexes of the ****  
****Cook-Book of the Breward of Gondorama:**

_Swìssmìss_ was the daughter of Thågràin II. She was the only dwarf-woman named in these histories (lawsuit pending). It was said by Gemli son of Gloìnchop that there were few dwarf-women, probably no more than a third of the people. They seldom walk abroad at great need, usually only when some dwarf-lord uses up all the coffee and forgets to bring more home. At such times that they do walk abroad, they disguise themselves as menfolk. It is a fact indeed that the Middle-girth Home Shopping Network and Delivery was thought up and brought into being by dwarf-women tired of gluing on false beards.

If they must go on a journey, they are in voice and appearance and in garb so like dwarf-men that the eyes and ears of other peoples cannot tell them apart. The truth of the matter is that there are NO dwarf-men at all, only dwarf-women dressing as dwarf-men to perpetuate the false rumours and give everyone back Under the Mountain a good laugh.

Okay, that's not true at all. Actually, Gemli was right and the fact that there are so few dwarf-women is a serious concern to all dwarves and is the reason that their numbers are slowly decreasing. Dwarves take only one wife or husband the whole of their lives, therefore less than one third of dwarf-men marry because divorce has not yet been invented in Middle-girth. Also, all dwarf-women do not take a husband; some desire none, or desire one that they cannot get and so will have no other. Some spend all their time in chatrooms talking to Elves and have no time for courting. Still others prefer to keep the hairy little grouches at a safe distance, for there is no one among the Free Peoples who are more crotchety than a dwarf-man before he's had his first cup of coffee in the morning.


	87. Chapter 87 Cast of the LotC

**The Cast of Lord of the Coffee **

**NescaFrodo** (hero), CoffeeRing Bearer, son of Go-go and Trimula TeaBaggins, nephew and heir of Bilbean. A half-caff.  
**Sanka Gamgeek**, a half-caff waiter, side-dish, and friend of NescaFrodo  
**MochaMerry StarBrandybuck**, son of Sarahlee, friend of NescaFrodo and Drippin Tookas a half-caff.  
**Drippin Tookas**, highly expendable friend of NescaFrodo and MochaMerry, half-caff and kleptomaniac  
**Gandgulp the Grey Wizard**, see also _**Grandélf the White** _and **_Milkeeway_**. A white-hat fellow  
**Aromagorn**, heir of Isillydur, a Man. See also **_Styroamer_** chief of the ReadyRangers, **_Delissar_**, and **_Iman Alias_**. Companion of NescaFrodo.  
**Legolatté Collardgreens**, an Elf of Milkwood, Companion of NescaFrodo. Sharpshooter and clotheshorse  
**Gemli**, son of Glóinchop, a Dwarf, Companion of NescaFrodo. Ax master and cinnamon roll baker  
**Boromocha**, son of Dentynethor, a Man, valiant, loyal, entranced by the One Coffee, Companion of NescaFrodo

**Supporting Cast **

**Bilbean TeaBaggins**, CoffeeRing Bearer and amateur burglar. An adventurous half-caff.  
**Elground the Édainish**, Lord of the Cupcakes, master of Imladrip also know as Rivndell Perk  
**Arwenchiel**, daughter of Elground and sweetheart of Aromagorn. A Cupcake  
**Elédee **and** Elédumb**, twin sons of Elground and brothers of Arwenchiel. Also Cupcakes, ReadyRangers  
**Glorfindelano**, an Elf-Lord. Hero of Gondolinseed and slayer of the Foulgrog. Eye-candy  
**Godivariel**, Queen of Chocolate. An Elf-Lady, Ruler of Loríandadanish  
**Celebraun**, spouse of Godivariel. An Elf-Lord and eye-candy  
**Haldiroast**, a hot Elf in Lóriandadainish, does not die at Helmund's Dip (sorry PJ)  
**Orophine **and **Rumilstone**, brothers of Haldiroast, coffee addicts and more eye-candy  
**Glóinchop**, father of Gemli, a Dwarf-Lord, one of Bilbean's companions  
**Barleycorn Butterrum**, a Man, Inkeeper and owner of the Perculating Pony  
**Gaffer Gamgeek**, father of Sanka. A half-caff. Tater chef and truant officer of the Shire  
**Bred Candyman**, a half-caff, son of the Miller of Hobbeanton. A Shire-weenie  
**TeaTreeBeard**, a Therment, a non-hasty tea-herder  
**Sacchrineman** (the Wizard formerly known as White), Led astray by the guile of the Dark Lord. See also **_Sweetums  
_Sour'on**, Dark Lord and coffeeoholic. Forger of the CoffeeRing. The Big Eye and the Bad Guy. Black hat fella  
**Dentynethor**, father of Boromocha and Faramocha. A Man who is the Breward of Gonoroma and a dental hygeinist  
**Faramocha**, brother of Boromocha. A Man who is (quite) a few quills short of a hedgehog  
**Karóden**, King of Yuban. A Man, who for a brief time, was mentally short-sheeted by Sacchrineman, by means of his servant, Grahma Burntongue.  
**Grahma Burntongue**, the double-crossing butler, sleaze-interest of Mayówyn, a Man  
**Mayówyn**, daughter of Helmans, a woMan. See also **_Poúpon_** (the grey)  
**Héomer**, brother of Mayówyn, a Man who looks _really _good in armour. sigh  
**Hámandrye**, a Man, doorwarden of Breadoras  
**Gulp'um/Sméagolatté**, CoffeeRing Bearer, used to be a Half-caff. See also **_Stinky_**, **_Slinky_**, and **_Peter Lorré_**.  
**Poúpon**, a Man of Rohan. (Actually, he is the sister of Héomer in drag. The family doesn't like to mention it...)


	88. Chapter 88 Poetry: All in a Day's Moot

**All in a Day's Moot**  
_**with apologies to TeaTreeBeard and the Professor  
**_

From the pillow-sleep of _Slumberländ _I woke in the Morning.  
Ah! the puffy eyes and the wheezes of Morning in the land of slumber!  
And I threw the alarum clock at the wall.

I wandered hungrily at Breakfast-time through the isles of _Quicktrip_.  
Ah! the banks of donuts and the rollers tripping with bangers in the halls of Q.T.!  
And my need for coffee was most dominant.

To the benches of _MacDugouls_ I came at Lunch-time.  
Ah! the generous crowds and the gregarious customer service agents in the hallows of _Chez Mac_!  
And my cholesterol level skyrocketed.

To the pills and bottles asles of _Walgrëns_ go I in the afternoon.  
Ah! for the Pepcid my mouth waters like Pavlov's pet!  
And my digestion is finally placated.

And now all Time and all those places are passed by  
Water under the belt, as they say, or rather bridges,  
In my own places, the armchairs and futons of _Lassitude_,  
Where the tea is iced ,  
And the sarcasm is thicker than honey,  
And nowhere near as sweet.


End file.
